JMBJV 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MUD  HOLLOW 

SIMON  N.  PATTEN 


MUD  HOLLOW 


From  Dust  to  Soul 


BY 

SIMON  N.  PATTEN 


Not  the  aeen  but  the  felt,  not  color  but 
joy,  not  fact  but  emotion,  not  beauty  but 
•ctioa,  not  madonnms  but  corn-fed  sirla. 


Publishers      DORRANCE       Philadelphia 


COPYRIGHT  1922 
BY  SIMON  N.  PATTEN 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


1  2.7rvny 


To  tboae  who  love  their  Anccetry,  their  Church, 
their  Home,  America,  all  her  Idole — yet  can  laugh. 


f- 


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1 


MUD   HOLLOW 

The  West  Amplified 


PART  I 
Its  Life  Presented 

PAGE 

I.  Mud  Hollow 11 

IL  Bowman  17 

IIL  The  Theologian   ...     20 

IV.  The  Professor   25 

V.  The  Faculty  Tea  . .     30 

VI.  College  Opens 40 

VIL  A  Sexless  Soul  ....  47 
VIIL  Senior  Honors  ....     62 

IX.  The  Book  69 

X.  The  Exit 77 

XL  On  the  River 83 

XIL  Cross  Currents  ...  103 
XIIL  The  Discovery  ....  121 
XIV.  The  Confession   ...  133 

XV.  The  Run  152 

XVL  The  Shock 163 

XVIL  The  Recoil   175 

XVIIL  The  Return  189 

XIX.  The   Hall   of  Wait- 
ing     199 

XX.  His  Vision  Clears. .  212 
XXL  McCabe   224 


PART  II 
Its  Life  Interpreted 

PAGE 

1.  The  Apology   229 

2.  The    Surviving   Element  234 

3.  Sense  Dullness 243 

4.  The  American  Blend  . .  249 

5.  The  Scotch  Contribution  256 

6.  Pioneer  Values    264 

7.  The  Passing  of  Dissent  270 

8.  Social  Values 275 

9.  Income  Power   281 

10.  Normalcy    292 

11.  Joe  Gannett 298 

12.  Acquired  Characters  . . .  309 

13.  Inferior  Complexes  ....  317 

14.  Super  Complexes   321 

15.  Genetic  Psychology   . . .  330 

16.  The  Sense  of  Sin 338 

17.  The  Wish 347 

18.  Romantic  Love   355 

19.  Protected  Girls  364 

20.  John  and  Hattie 371 

21.  The  Next  Step  in  Evo- 

lution     377 


PART  I 


MUD  HOLLOW 

Its  Lite  Presented 

Life  today  is  shaped  by  the  blood  of  the  civil 
war,  by  golden  harvests,  and  by  Methodist 
theology.  Children  of  this  generation,  reflect- 
ing what  the  viron  has  imposed,  test  the  vir- 
tues and  shortcomings  of  their  forbears.  By 
your  children  shall  you  be  known. 


MUD  HOLLOW 


Mud  Hollow 

Artists  see  angels  in  blocks  of  marble.  A  sim- 
ilar instinct  helped  Tim  Brown  to  see  the  fertility 
hid  beneath  the  bullrushes  of  Mud  Hollow. 
Originally  a  swamp,  it  had  by  drainage  become 
a  garden.  Old  Tim  was  thus  a  maker;  what  he 
did  others  did ;  as  he  prospered  so  did  they.  The 
fields  were  square;  the  furrows  straight.  Above 
the  ground  was  corn,  from  the  corn  the  hog. 
When  a  farmer  talked  of  beauty  he  meant  hogs 
not  his  girls. 

All  was  man-made — Tim-made,  the  neighbors 
said.  His  broad  acres  had  no  defect;  no  weeds 
dared  to  invade  his  premises.  Old  Tim  said  he 
would  teach  water  a  thing  or  two  and  he  had. 
No  sooner  did  a  drop  arrive  than  it  looked  about 
— took  the  beaten  track  as  tamely  as  the  tradi- 
tional lamb. 

The  ground  thawed  on  the  seventh  of  March; 
the  first  frost  came  on  September  nineteenth. 
Planting,  harvesting,  corn-picking  never  varied  in 
time  or  amount.  The  sun  poured  out  just  so 
many  calories  each  day.  The  heat  became  corn, 
the  corn  became  hog,  which  by  Thanksgiving 
averaged  328.  Western  sun  has  no  vagaries.  It 
rises  a  dull  gray,  yields  its  calories  like  a  squeezed 
lemon,  disappears  too  exhausted  to  light  a  candle. 

11 


12  MUD  HOLLOW 

It  is  merely  a  timepiece  to  tell  roosters  of  when 
to  crow,  cows  of  milking  time,  turkeys  when  to  go 
to  bed.  Nature  was  humbler  than  the  bull  Tim 
led  by  the  nose.  Glory,  glory  to  man.  Muscle 
and  vim  astride  the  universe. 

Such  was  Mud  Hollow.  The  soil  was  Indiana, 
but  the  heart,  the  mind,  the  thought,  were  still  as 
rigidly  Scotch  as  when  Knox  thundered.  A 
stranger  contrast  than  between  week-days  and 
Sunday  could  not  exist.  The  one  was  carefully 
adjusted  to  local  conditions,  the  other  had  not  a 
trace  of  modern  life.  All  was  still  except  the 
preacher's  voice  and  the  growing  corn.  In  this 
group  Old  Tim  was  the  glorified  chief.  A  better 
farmer,  a  more  pig-headed  theologian  never  ex- 
isted. Calvinism  was  his  glory.  Methodism  his 
aversion.  He  never  mixed  with  the  common  clay 
across  the  street.  Six  days  he  worked;  no  flow- 
ers, no  play,  no  camp-meeting  for  him. 

The  Civil  War  broke  this  isolation;  the  West, 
ceasing  to  be  a  series  of  clans,  marched  behind 
a  banner  which  blended  more  faiths  than  it  had 
stripes.  Old  Tim  for  the  first  time  sat  on  the 
platform  with  his  Methodist  neighbors.  For  Lin- 
coln they  shouted;  for  Lincoln  they  voted;  for 
Lincoln  they  fought. 

Like  every  other  town  Mud  Hollow  had  its 
Lincoln  celebration.  There  were  horsemen, 
Indians,  revolutionary  heroes,  wide-awakes,  girls 
with  banners,  but  the  crown  of  crowns  was  the 
Goddess  of  Liberty  on  a  chariot,  which  in  the  en- 
thusiasm of  the  hour  was  dragged  around  the 
square  by  leading  citizens.  When  the  Goddess 
finally  descended  everybody,  Tim  included,  kissed 
her  in  truly  western  fashion.  It  was  a  grand 
affair,  at  least  in  Indiana  eyes.  Tim  was  pleased, 
60  pleased  that  he  forgot  he  kissed  the  girl  he 
had  denounced  for  loving  flowers  better  than  the 
washtub.     Community  campaigning  had  its  cost 


MUD  HOLLOW  13 

as  well  as  glory.  When  patriotism  crosses  the 
road,  love  follows.  If  he  could  kiss  the  Goddess 
of  Liberty  so  could  his  boy. 

The  wedding  was  a  grand  affair.  All  of  the 
two  churches  sat  in  the  pews.  The  beauty  of  one 
group,  the  pride  of  the  other,  walked  down  the 
aisle;  their  union  blended  two  long  antagonistic 
groups. 

As  the  couple  left  the  church  they  found  before 
the  Post  Office  an  excited  crowd.  Lincoln  had 
called  for  troops.  All  lined  up,  the  groom  with 
the  rest ;  when  the  last  drill  came,  and  the  engine 
puffed,  a  pale  girl  leaning  against  the  corner  of 
the  depot  was  beginning  to  realize  how  different 
the  world  is  from  what  we  imagine. 

What  a  change  the  war  made :  barns  were  emp- 
tied, sacrifice  replaced  joy;  women  did  men's 
work.  The  bride  going  through  with  the  rest 
finally  got  her  reward  in  a  maimed  husband.  Ex- 
ternally she  was  like  her  neighbors.  What  they 
acquired  through  centuries  she  got  in  one  dose. 
She  not  only  cooked  but  did  the  outdoor  work 
of  a  man.  A  familiar  sight  was  to  see  her  astride 
a  corn  plow  or  pitching  in  the  hay  field.  Yet  all 
was  done  so  quietly  few  realized  her  burden. 
Today  she  was  dark  and  sinewy.  Her  face  once 
seen  was  seldom  forgotten.  When  she  came  to 
town  the  old  soldiers  stood  attention  and  ran  her 
errands  like  schoolboys. 

A  boy  came,  the  pride  of  Old  Tim,  the  hope  of 
the  town.  Every  old  soldier  was  Paul's  god- 
father, evincing  that  partiality  in  which  over- 
friendly  admirers  indulge.  Such  conditions  would 
have  spoiled  most  boys.  Petted  children  seldom 
make  great  men.  His  salvation  came  through 
his  character's  not  fitting  his  viron.  What  he 
could  do  was  not  valued;  what  he  could  not  do 
stood  high  in  public  esteem.  In  arithmetic  he 
surpassed,  but  prestige  came  from  spelling.   The 


14  MUD  HOLLOW, 

glib  rhymes  other  boys  poured  out  on  exhibition 
days  were  beyond  his  power.  When  the  annual 
school  exhibition  came  with  its  dialogues  and 
theatricals  Paul  never  got  higher  than  door- 
keeper. Seemingly  stupid  where  the  town  ex- 
pected excellence,  he  would  have  been  looked  on 
as  a  country  jake  but  for  the  reputation  of  his 
family.  ''Looks  like  his  mother,"  people  said. 
He  did,  but  in  his  tearful  grindings  at  the  spell- 
ing book  his  jaw  was  clinched  as  firmly  as  the 
grandfather 's. 

The  two  were  inseparable.  What  Tim  knew 
was  poured  into  willing  ears ;  all  his  farm  stand- 
ards, all  his  prejudice,  all  the  family  tradition, 
the  boy  knew.  He  became  a  replica  of  his  grand- 
father, in  opinion,  manners,  gestures ;  even  more 
narrow  and  rigid  in  his  views.  Home  was  a  realm 
that  reflected  heaven ;  Indiana  an  empire  so  large 
that  it  crowded  the  stars. 

All  went  smoothly  until  old  Tim's  death  trans- 
ferred Paul  from  the  home  to  school.  Like  all 
western  villages  Mud  Hollow  had  an  imported 
normal  school  enthusiast  who  brought  with  her 
culture,  sweetness  and  light.  She  reformed  the 
accents  of  children ;  corrected  their  manners,  was 
vitriolic  in  spelling ;  but  sin  of  all  sin  in  the  boy's 
eyes — what  grandfather  taught  and  mother  did 
came  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  well-meaning  but 
somewhat  misguided  instruction  of  this^  normal 
aesthete.  The  blackboard  was  covered  with  flow- 
ing lines  which  she  made  with  an  ease  that  aston- 
ished Paul,  who  try  as  he  would  could  not  make 
his  awkward  fingers  move  in  flomng  curves.  She 
put  a  bird  on  the  top  of  the  figure  7 ;  placed  a  nest 
with  eggs  in  each  of  the  loops  of  the  fi,gure  8; 
had  roses  in  her  hair,  rings  on  her  fingers.  Her 
knowledge  was  as  cosmopolitan  as  her  dress.  She 
had  two-week  courses  in  everything  from  Greek 
architecture  to  the  modern  drama. 


MUD  HOLLOW  15 

More  miglit  be  told  of  the  virtue,  knowledge 
and  skill  of  this  normal  prodigy  but  the  real  point 
is  not  what  she  knew  but  how  she  impressed  the 
boy.  He  sat  sturdily  in  a  back  seat,  reticent  but 
boiling  with  an  inward  rage.  She  extolled  spell- 
ing ;  he  marked  in  his  book  words  that  in  his  view 
were  spelled  wrong.  The  birds  she  put  on  the 
board  he  rubbed  out  every  time  he  got  a  chance. 
He  clung  to  the  home  pronunciation  as  firmly  as 
to  church  creed.  He  never  broke  rules,  but  hatred 
of  school  grew  with  the  months.  All  this  is  doubt- 
less wrong.  It  might  have  been  punished  if 
known.  But  being  repressed  it  became  an  emo- 
tional wave  coloring  his  life. 

At  last  a  break  came.  One  of  the  school  feats 
was  reading  without  a  mistake.  Some  girls  could 
read  a  page;  Paul  could  never  read  a  sentence 
without  technical  errors.  His  slow  Bro-\vn  hesi- 
tation tripped  him  at  every  trial.  The  girls 
laughed,  even  mocked;  chagrined,  he  refused  to 
read.  Then  came  a  struggle  with  teacher ;  finally 
he  yielded  but  burst  out  crying,  sobbing  for  min- 
utes when  in  his  seat.  The  teacher  felt  her  dis- 
cipline had  triumphed.  His  mother  kissed  him 
for  submission.  Neither  knew  the  turmoil  raging 
in  the  boy's  mind.  He  threw  stones  at  birds,  per- 
secuted cats,  slashed  roses.  Rebuked,  he  took 
vengeance  on  thistles,  decapitating  them  with 
fierce  blows.  * '  How  like  his  grandfather, ' '  every- 
one said.  Old  Tim  hated  weeds ;  Paul  hated  girls, 
an  inevitable  result  of  subjecting  slowly  develop- 
ing boys  to  the  censure  of  glib  girls. 

The  real  Paul,  the  budding  Paul,  came  to  the 
surface  in  another  way,  to  understand  which  the 
influence  of  Colonel  Saunders  must  be  understood. 
Every  Indiana  town  has  a  Xentucky  colonel,  a 
man  more  noted  for  talk  than  for  deed.  All  the 
adjectives  of  the  dictionary  were  at  his  command. 


16  MUD  hollow; 

At  donation  parties,  wedding  anniversaries,  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,  he  was  in  his  element. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  a  favorite ;  her  cakes,  her  pies, 
her  bread,  her  chicken  and  waffles,  her  house  and 
her  farm  gave  him  endless  opportunity  to  extol. 
The  Colonel  could  make  a  Grecian  goddess  blush 
in  return  for  a  glass  of  water.  Paul  would  not 
deny  these  excellences.  But  to  him  she  was  some- 
thing higher,  nobler,  something  the  Colonel's 
words  never  reached. 

He  would  outdo  the  Colonel.    He  would  coin  a 
mother-description    that    would    pale    anything 
Saunders  had  done.    This  was  quite  a  task  for  a 
boy  in  a  speechless  family.    Words  were  not  his 
forte ;  but  if  the  Browns  did  not  have  words  they 
had  a  will  that  more  than  made  up.    When  they 
started  no  obstacle  was  too  great  to  surmount. 
In  this  spirit  Paul  took  up  his  chosen  task.    He 
wrote    and   re-wrote   but   his    ideal   of   mother 
grew  faster  than  his  words.    He  tried  poetry  but 
in  it  he  never  acquired  enough  proficiency  to  gain 
admission  to  the  village  paper.    From  the  diction- 
ary long  lists  of  words  were  compiled  to  be  used 
in  the  great  Philippic  on  which  he  labored.    When 
the  dictionary  failed  he  took  the  study  of  Greek. 
This  Paul  followed  with  a  vigor  which  made  it 
seem  that  he  had  a  real  love  of  literature.    Hunt 
as  he  would  for  fitting  words,  they  never  came. 
He  kept  on  trying  to  coin  words  but  they  never 
quite  fitted  his  mother's  case.     At  last  fortune 
came  his  way.    Professor  Stuart,  stopping  at  Mud 
Hollow  on  a  Western  trip,  gave  his  oft-repeated 
lecture  in  laudation  of  women.     The  to^vn  liked 
Kentucky  oratory  better,  but  Paul  was  electrified. 
Stuart's   sentences   had   a  mystical  ring  which 
seemed  vague  to  practical  people;  but  to  Paul 
they  gave  promise  that  he  might  at  length  reach 
his  long-sought  goal.   That  fall  an  uncouth,  awk- 
ward boy  left  the  Indiana  plain  for  Pennsylvania 


BOWMAN  17 

.hills.     The  flat  straight  was  to  fit  itself  to  the 
curved  hill;  the  prairie  to  the  forest. 

Are  the  mud-hen  and  the  eagle  twins  or 
strangers  1 

II 

Bowman 

In  its  settlement  Pennsylvania  represents  more 
fully  than  elsewhere  the  diverse  elements  out  of 
which  our  nation  rose.  We  emphasize  our  unity 
so  much  that  the  strange  commingling  of  races, 
creeds  and  aspirations  among  our  forefathers 
does  not  stand  out  as  clearly  as  it  should.  Of 
those,  Pennsylvania  had  a  double  share  because 
of  the  open  door  extended  to  all  strangers.  In 
many  ways  the  Quakers  were  narrow  but  they 
were  always  true  to  the  principles  for  which  they 
stood.  All  were  welcome  whatever  the  variation 
in  character  or  faith.  But  this  prevented  homo- 
geneity. Ten  miles,  a  river,  or  a  range  of  hills 
often  made  an  impassable  barrier  separating  lo- 
calities more  completely  than  broad  oceans  now 
do.  These  little  worlds  had  their  peculiar  life. 
They  became  a  series  of  layers,  each  striving  to 
keep  its  own  religion,  thought  and  language. 
While  there  has  been  some  yielding  of  boundaries, 
these  essential  contrasts  remain.  Pennsylvania 
is  still  a  federation — ^not  a  state. 

Coming  later  than  the  Quakers,  the  Scotch- 
Irish  occupy  a  worthy  place.  They  found  the 
fertile  southeast  section  occupied.  Forced  into 
the  foot-hills  or  the  upland  valleys,  they  found  a 
region  resembling  in  ruggedness  the  land  they 
left.  In  it  they  sought  to  make  a  new  Scotland 
and  to  perpetuate  the  institutions  and  beliefs  to 
which  the  Scotch  so  fondly  cling.  _  For  a  whole 
century  little  occurred  to  break  their  isolation  or 


18  MUD  HOLLOW. 

to  introduce  the  new  ideas  floating  into  America 
through  many  doors.  No  serious  inroads  in  cus- 
toms or  thouglit  were  made  until  tlie  Civil  War 
broke  on  them  like  a  devastating  cyclone.  Its 
youth  for  the  first  time,  flowing  out,  mingled  with 
the  larger  world.  The  veteran  brought  home  a 
new  view  of  human  relations  which,  remolding 
history,  elevated  disliked  races  into  a  broad  com- 
radeship. Why  should  interest  continue  in  Euro- 
pean conflicts  when  our  own  social  problems  were 
looming  to  a  place  of  supreme  importance!  The 
new  and  the  old  clashed ;  nowhere  was  the  strug- 
gle so  severe  as  among  the  Scotch-Irish  rigidly 
bound  by  their  Calvinistic  faith  and  tradition.  It 
was  the  old  problem  of  the  irresistible  meeting 
the  immovable.  What  is  more  immovable  than 
dogma  and  what  more  irresistible  than  the  genial 
faith  of  the  modern  democrat? 

Bowman  was  one  of  those  communities  to  which 
pioneers  flocked.  Its  old  log  church  was  the 
center  of  many  a  controversy  from  which  the 
orthodox  always  came  forth  victorious.  Its 
preachers  formed  a  long  line  of  solid  defenders 
of  the  faith  which  at  length  blossomed  into  a 
theological  school  of  national  reno^vn,  from  which 
flowed  old  ideas  as  from  a  well  undefiled.  The 
college  gradually  grew  up  around  the  school,  until 
recently  merely  a  preparatory  school  for  the  bud- 
ding divines.  The  whole  atmosphere  was  thus 
sternly  Puritan.  Life  was  regarded  as  too  severe 
a  task  to  make  its  joy  w^orth  cultivating. 

Today,  standing  on  its  campus,  one  could  hard- 
ly help  exclaiming  ''Beautiful";  yet  this  was  a 
word  nobody  thought  of  appljdng  for  a  whole 
century.  The  site  was  chosen  not  for  its  beauty 
but  for  its  utility.  We  are  apt  to  think  of  our 
ancestors  as  artistic  and  of  ourselves  as  utili- 
tarian ;  yet  the  opposite  is  the  case.  The  upland 
soil  was  more  readily  adapted  to  the  cultivation 


BOWMAN  19 

of  wheat,  tlie  staple  article  both  of  food  and  of 
export.  On  these  hill-tops  our  ancestors  led  their 
calm,  isolated  lives. 

Bowman  thus  changed  from  utility  to  beauty 
without  anyone's  perceiving  the  change  or  doing 
much  to  help  it  along.  It  was  on  a  bench  between 
two  branches  of  the  river  flowing  through  the 
valley  below.  This  bench,  reaching  back  many 
miles,  connected  with  the  main  range  of  hills. 
On  its  top  ran  an  old  road  along  which  the  wood 
of  the  interior  was  carried  to  the  local  sawmill. 
The  Ridge  Road,  as  it  is  now  called,  has  so  many 
views  of  the  valley  on  both  sides  that  it  seems 
designed  for  its  artistic  effects.  But  no  such 
thought  entered  the  minds  of  its  projectors.  They 
merely  avoided  the  gullies  which  the  rain  had 
washed  in  the  hillsides.  Perhaps  the  loggers  oc- 
casionally looked  down  into  the  valleys  below  but 
we  may  be  sure  they  shuddered  at  the  view  more 
often  than  they  smiled.  Thinking  of  the  glories 
of  Scotland  or  of  the  songs  of  the  Israelite 
prophets,  one  can  understand  the  feeling  with 
which  the  uplander  looks  down  on  the  depth ;  cor- 
rupt and  vicious,  if  occupied ;  and  full  of  physical 
dangers  if  not. 

At  one  of  the  points  now  most  cherished  is  a 
stone  on  which  the  Rev.  Alexander  McCarter  sat 
while  he  wrote  his  famous  sermon  on  * '  The  Second 
Coming,"  in  which  he  pictured  the  flaming  sword 
moving  up  the  valley  below.  So  accurate  was  the 
description  that  even  now  his  sermon  is  used  to 
give  a  picture  of  the  region  as  it  was.  With  these 
thoughts  in  the  background,  what  was  beauty  to 
Bowman? 

The  village  was  not  the  result  of  town  planning, 
but  of  the  accident  of  growth.  The  green  which 
became  the  college  campus  was  in  the  foreground 
slightly  sloping  towards  the  river.  On  its  far  side 
stood  the  old  church  noted  for  its  pulpit  eloquence 


20  MUD  HOLLOW 

and  its  severe  orthodoxy.  It  could  not  claim  much 
beauty  except  for  the  ivy  which  clung  to  its  sides. 
A  broad  avenue  lined  with  chestnuts  ran  between 
the  college  buildings  and  the  green ;  but  the  other 
streets  had  no  plan,  each  following  the  lay  of  the 
land  which,  fortunately,  was  too  uneven  to  per- 
mit rectangular  squares.  The  houses  were  as  near 
or  far  from  the  street  as  the  breadth  of  land  be- 
tween the  road  and  the  hill  behind  permitted.  If 
they  stood  back,  a  fine  lawn  added  to  their  charm ; 
but  often  they  squarely  faced  the  street.  At  one 
time  these  street  houses  had  a  rather  squalid 
appearance,  as  they  were  the  homes  of  the  poor. 
But  the  railroad  town  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  gradually  emptied  Bowman  of  its  working 
population. 

This  accident  gave  Bo^vman  its  unique  char- 
acter. Life  was  unpretentious  and  yet  had  the 
air  of  refinement  seldom  seen  in  so  small  a  place. 
On  the  green  were  few  ornaments.  Before  the 
Seminary  stood  a  monument  to  commemorate  the 
missionary  efforts  for  which  Bowman  was  noted. 
Its  tablet  deserved  attention  as  BoAvman  had  a 
martjT  class,  of  whose  nine  members  seven  had 
died  either  in  missionary  service  or  on  the  battle- 
field. There  was  room  at  the  bottom  for  the 
names  of  two  men  whose  reputation  gave  to  Bow- 
man a  unique  position.  Malcolm  Stuart  and 
Samuel  Dickson  were  the  ones  to  be  added. 


Ill 

The  Theologian 

Samuel  Dickson,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  was  the  title  of 
the  dean  of  the  Theological  School.  He  was  the 
fifth  in  a  line  of  preachers  with  cousins,  uncles 


THE  THEOLOGIAN  21 

and  relatives  so  numerous  in  the  same  work  that 
the  Dickson  family  could  almost  claim  the  title  of 
defenders  of  the  faith.  After  graduation  he  be- 
came a  missionary,  giving  this  up  only  at  the 
urgent  call  of  the  home  church.  Bowman  seemed 
likely  to  be  eclipsed  by  mushroom  seminaries  of 
doubtful  orthodoxy.  ^Tio  could  save  the  day  bet- 
ter than  one  uncontaminated  by  modern  thought? 
The  returning  solidity  of  con^dction  throughout 
the  church  bore  evidence  of  his  ability.  All  was 
well  or  at  least  seemed  well  except  for  the  break 
Professor  Stuart  was  making.  Of  what  avail  was 
it  to  scorch  Satan  in  a  hundred  outlying  places  if 
right  at  home  his  corrupting  influence  was  ap- 
parent ? 

Dr.  Dickson  was  a  short,  thick-set  man  with  a 
high  forehead  and  protruding  chin.  His  middle- 
face  was  thin  and  filled  out  only  when  he  spoke 
with  emphasis.  Then  the  strong  face  muscles  be- 
came prominent,  which  with  the  accompanying 
glow  of  earnestness  made  him  a  handsome  man 
in  the  pulpit.  Many  were  his  admirers;  he  de- 
served them. 

A  description  of  the  doctor  is  not  complete 
without  a  glimpse  of  his  wife.  Every  male  Cal- 
vinist  has  back  of  him  a  female  voice  urging  him 
on.  This  will  be  stoutly  denied  by  the  defenders 
of  their  faith.  What  is  bolder  than  the  way  in 
which  Calvinist  ministers  malign  woman?  She 
seems  merely  a  penitent  Magdalene  having  no 
place  except  at  the  pleasure  of  man.  This,  how- 
ever, is  merely  a  flow  of  words.  In  reality  the 
woman  drives;  the  man  follows.  He  talks  firmly 
but  in  trouble  asks  Jane  what  to  do. 

Calvinism  has  left  its  mark  both  on  men  and 
women.  It  is  hard  to  tell  how  many  ages  man 
dragged  woman  after  him  in  his  exploits.  It  was 
certainly  long  enough  to  make  the  tradition  of 
the  church  and  to  shape  woman's  thought  so  that 


22  MUD  HOLLOW 

she  accepts  its  limitations  as  natural.  No  woman 
could  survive  who  questioned  them.  They  thus 
became  defenders  of  their  own  repression— keep- 
ers of  their  own  prison  doors.  Each  generation 
of  women  shaped  the  next  to  fit  the  situation  in 
which  they  survive,  a  regime  which  leaves  x)hysical 
as  well  as  mental  marks.  A  weak  chin,  a  full 
middle-face,  a  sloping  forehead,  was  either  caused 
"by  this  repression  or  became  the  limits  beyond 
which  woman  could  not  pass.  Firmness  would  be 
suicidal.  The  strong-minded  entered  the  church 
or  died  old  maids. 

While  survival  came  through  hunting,  fishing 
and  fighting  the  man  dominated,  but  when  it  de- 
pended on  clothes,  cooking  and  cleanliness  the 
woman  came  to  her  own.  The  plagues  did  much 
to  inaugurate  the  new  epoch.  They  were  filth 
diseases  carried  by  clothes,  food  and  dirt.  Clean- 
liness thus  became  more  than  godliness  since 
cooking  was  the  only  means  of  germ  extermina- 
tion. On  top  of  this  came  the  visitation  of  tuber- 
cular germs  which  infected  dirty  houses  as  the 
plagues  did  food  and  clothing.  The  conquerors 
of  these  were  not  the  hunter,  fisher  and  warrior, 
but  the  woman  with  wash-tub  and  cook-stove. 
The  man  asked  the  woman  for  pastry  instead  of 
her  begging  meat  of  him.  Soap  was  more  power- 
ful than  powder.  The  dominating  man  and  the 
slovenly  housewife  died  of  their  own  carelessness. 
The  woman  of  muscle  gained  a  husband  and  bore 
him  children  of  a  new  kind.  Woman  was  silent 
in  church  but  ruled  at  home.  This  compromise 
is  Calvinism  well  exemplified  in  the  relations  of 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dickson. 

No  one  was  a  more  pronounced  advocate  of 
man's  rule  than  she  nor  a  firmer  believer  in 
woman's  frailty.  Yet  Dr.  Dickson  always  carried 
out  her  instructions.  She  was  tall  for  a  woman 
and  would  have  risen  above  her  husband  if  he 


THE  THEOLOGIAN  23 

had  not  worn  a  high  hat.  Her  hands  were  large, 
her  bones  developed,  her  muscles  tightly  drawn. 
There  was  no  end  to  what  she  could  endure;  her 
planning  outran  her  deeds.  She  stirred  not  only 
Dr.  Dickson's  activity  but  that  of  the  whole  town; 
was  president  of  a  dozen  missionary  societies,  led 
the  Christian  Endeavor,  was  Sunday  school  sup- 
erintendent and  presided  at  all  the  women's  teas 
— monarch  of  all  she  surveyed  except  Professor 
Stuart.  Here  was  a  gulf  she  never  crossed;  it 
vexed  her  beyond  measure  that  such  a  thorn  not 
only  stayed  but  grew. 

Mrs.  Dickson  was  not  exotic,  but  the  product 
of  long  evolution.  There  are  dozens  like  her  in 
every  town  who  would  manifest  the  same  traits 
if  the  occasion  permitted.  Man  idealizes  one  kind 
of  a  woman,  nature  is  forcing  another  kind  on 
him.  There  is  thus  a  death  struggle  between  what 
he  wants  and  what  he  must  accept.  He  admires 
a  pretty  face,  small  hands,  narrow  waist  and  slop- 
ing shoulders.  Such  was  the  primitive  woman 
and  such  is  the  modern  Madonna  whom  artists 
draw.  No  matter  what  ancient  conditions  de- 
manded, she  does  not  fit  modern  life. 

In  earlier  days  when  religion  acted  as  a  force 
to  guide  evolution,  each  sect  tended  to  create  an 
individual  type  by  attracting  the  like  and  repel- 
ling the  discordant.  America  was  then  a  group 
of  groups,  each  moving  in  its  owm  way,  preserv- 
ing if  not  enlarging  its  own  individuality.  Of 
these  the  Methodist  and  the  Calvinist  were  the 
more  easily  recognized.  Methodism  saved  sin- 
ners; Calvinism  ruled  the  saints  whose  emotions 
it  could  not  arouse.  There  were  thus  upper  and 
lower  strata,  each  molding  its  people  in  its  own 
way.  Methodism  was  the  new  and  the  higher.  It 
broke  tradition  and  freed  the  soul.  But  the  phy- 
sical type  it  tended  to  create  was  reversion.  In  a 
Methodist  church  the  man  walked  down  the  aisle 


24  MUD  HOLLOW 

with  a  firm  step ;  a  humble,  weak-chinned  woman 
followed.  In  the  rival  church  the  woman  led; 
a  tame,  subdued  man  followed  even  the  children. 
No  elder  was  without  a  prodding  wife.  His  life 
had  thorns  as  well  as  roses.  Scotch  women  are 
pure,  noble,  virtuous,  but  they  also  have  acid 
tongues.  Some  experienced  with  both  types  Avould 
rather  be  vociferously  scolded  at  times  than 
nagged  all  the  while.  When  a  Methodist  woman 
bursts  into  a  flame  it  is  better  to  retire  to  the 
barn  until  passion  subsides.  Then  a  box  of  candy 
will  straighten  things  out.  Not  so  with  the  Cal- 
vinist.  She  has  quieter  ways  but  they  are  per- 
sistent. Feeling  she  must  act  through  her  hus- 
band, she  exerts  a  constant  pressure  which  often 
is  far  from  agreeable. 

There  never  was  a  more  vigorous  group  than 
those  who  conquered  the  West  for  Methodism. 
They  might  slip  in  their  English,  but  the  volume 
of  their  voice  was  never  in  question.  Sinners  had 
to  put  their  fingers  in  their  ears  to  keep  the  gospel 
out.  This  at  a  time  when  Calvinist  ministers  wore 
spectacles,  feared  drafts  and  took  pills  for  diges- 
tion. Any  old  almanac  will  tell  the  vigor  of  the 
praise  they  bestowed  on  patent  nostrums;  who 
can  praise  except  those  who  use?  The  Methodist 
cured  his  cold  by  pounding  the  Bible.  For  a  whole 
century  no  one  became  bishop  who  wore  less  than 
number  eleven  boots  nor  until  he  had  pounded  a 
hole  in  six  Bibles.  His  feet  and  his  hands  were 
as  big  as  his  soul.  Shoes  tell  the  story  of  the 
ascent  of  Methodism.  Physical  might  may  not 
be  as  lofty  as  spiritual  right  but  it  wins.  The 
world  is  for  the  strong  even  if  the  saints  get  the 
first  place  above. 


THE  PROFESSOR  25 

IV 

The  Professor 

A  reader  of  character  would  have  gone  astray 
if  he  had  attempted  to  judge  Professor  Stuart 
by  appearance.  Of  all  guesses  the  last  would  be 
that  here  stood  a  survivor  of  the  Civil  War,  noted 
for  his  courage  and  audacity.  Yet  such  was  the 
case.  Of  the  first  to  enlist,  he  had  been  in  every 
campaign  in  which  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
fought.  So  efficient  was  his  service  that  the  end 
of  the  war  found  him  in  charge  of  a  famous  scout- 
ing troop.  It  is  said  that  Sheridan  desired  to 
give  him  a  commission  in  the  regular  army  but 
the  offer  of  the  Greek  professorship  in  liis  home 
college  proved  more  attractive.  Many  are  the 
tales  told  of  his  exploits  and  many  the  scars  he 
bore.  One  was  plainly  visible  on  his  right  cheek 
but  others  more  serious  were  covered  by  the 
straggling  gray  beard  which  hid  what  otherwise 
would  be  a  deformity.  The  body  marks  were  even 
more  prominent  but  there  were  enough  in  sight 
to  bear  evidence  of  his  valor. 

At  sixty  there  was  nothing  of  the  soldier  about 
him,  except  on  Decoration  Day  when  the  old  uni- 
form was  burnished  and  the  spurs  clanked  at  the 
heels  of  his  army  boots.  He  seemed  another  man 
on  this  occasion  or  when  he  headed  a  group  fol- 
lowing some  comrade  to  his  final  rest.  All  this 
would  have  made  him  worthy  of  notice  but  it  is 
not  this  that  made  his  character.  The  face  of  a 
woman  had  always  been  present  even  in  the 
thickest  of  his  fights.  He  was  glad  when  the 
hour  came  to  throw  off  his  uniform  and  claim 
his  bride.  What  could  be  better  than  a  happy 
home  and  the  quiet  charm  of  a  college  professor- 
ship!   Ida  and  Greek — what  a  combination!    No 


26  MUD  HOLLOW 

wonder  the  military  step  was  displaced  and  war 
memories  became  a  dream. 

This  Eden  was  not  destined  to  last.  Ida  faded 
in  spite  of  his  care.  All  that  remained  was  an 
enlarged  photo  and  a  little  girl  said  to  be  her 
image. 

The  Professor  changed,  but  it  was  a  change  of 
love  from  one  woman  to  all  her  kind.  From  now 
on  he  became  an  ardent  advocate  of  woman's 
rights.  Many  are  the  pamphlets  which  he  con- 
tributed to  the  early  stages  of  the  suffrage  move- 
ment; many  more  were  the  lectures  he  gave  to 
advance  its  sacred  cause.  In  college  his  opening 
course  was  a  history  of  w^oman  rather  than  of 
man.  Back  of  each  hero  he  saw  the  woman  who 
gave  him  force.  What  are  nations  and  conquest 
compared  with  human  love?  This  may  be  crude 
doctrine,  modern  professors  of  history  would 
smile  at  its  innocent  perspective,  but  it  sufficed 
to  give  him  zeal  for  a  work  which  otherwise  would 
have  been  a  task. 

All  this  might  have  happened,  and  yet  not  have 
given  Stuart  the  place  he  held  but  for  the  trans- 
formation of  thought  which  the  reading  of  John 
Stuart  Mill's  autobiography  wrought.  Mill  had 
been  educated  in  a  peculiar  way.  All  ancestral 
beliefs  were  withheld  in  the  hope  of  removing  the 
cramping  influence  of  false  ideas.  ''Why  not!" 
said  Stuart,  as  he  laid  aside  the  volume,  "apply 
the  same  treatment  to  a  girl?"  Yes,  he  would 
show  the  world  a  natural  w^oman — one  who  stood 
on  her  own  feet,  thought  her  own  thoughts,  dream- 
ed her  own  dreams.  A  tuoman  without  tears;  no 
repressions  save  those  of  her  own  awakened  con- 
science. To  him  a  w^oman's  woes  are  the  un- 
natural product  of  her  repressions.  Baby  Ruth 
should  have  none  of  these.  She  was  to  blossom 
as  God  intended;  never  knowing  what  tears  or 
sorrow  meant. 


THE  PROFESSOR  27 

The  Professor  set  about  liis  chosen  task  in  a 
most  systematic  manner.  It  was  not  for  him  to 
trim  or  guide.  The  tree  grows,  the  germ  comes 
to  maturity  without  pruning.  If  God  plans  so 
carefully  for  plants  and  animals,  why  has  He 
not  implanted  in  woman  the  promptings  which 
evoke  her  full  development?  Let  a  girl  be  happy, 
give  her  full  contact  with  nature.  All  man  can 
do  is  to  wait  and  to  keep  woman  away. 

To  be  sponsor  of  the  first  free  woman  caused 
an  isolation  of  Ruth  from  the  woman  world  and 
a  disregard  of  decorum  which  shocked  the  town 
as  much  as  it  pleased  the  Professor.  They  saw 
as  depravity  what  to  him  was  budding  originality. 

When  Ida  died  many  were  the  kind  offers  of 
her  woman  friends  to  care  for  Ruth.  Stuart  re- 
jected them  all  kindly  but  firmly.  When  they  be- 
gan to  protest  at  her  antics  he  resented  their 
intrusion.  What  were  books,  laws  and  traditions 
but  deadening  repressions  which  make  for  ab- 
normality? Woman's  beauty  is  God's  truth. 
What  He  implanted  she  will  fulfill  if  only  the 
tribe  of  arrogant  teachers  ceases  to  interfere. 

Such  ideas  could  not  but  provoke  strong  re- 
action among  the  zealous  Calvinists  of  Bowman. 
The  Professor  soon  came  to  be  regarded  the  bane 
of  the  town;  the  girl  as  a  new  trial  to  test  the 
faith  of  the  orthodox.  Woman  must  walk  a 
straight  path,  deviation  from  which  is  death. 
Time-honored  traditions  fix  the  boundary  of  her 
activity.  Those  who  could  not  stand  the  rigor 
of  these  chains  died  or  broke  away.  To  harbor 
such  a  heresy,  to  permit  such  an  exhibition  in  their 
town,  was  to  invite  God's  wrath  to  be  visited  alike 
on  the  innocent  and  the  guilty. 

Bibles  were  diligently  thumbed ;  many  were  the 
passages  hurled  at  the  Professor  to  show  Imnthe 
error  of  his  way.  When  these  failed,  noted  divines 
were  imported  to  confound  the  guilty.    But  all  in 


28  MUD  HOLLOW 

vain.  The  Professor  grew  more  determined  but 
at  the  same  time  more  gentle.  This  irritated  his 
opponents.  If  he  would  only  hit  back  some  form 
of  church  discipline  might  be  imposed.  But  to 
enjoy  the  fiery  darts  hurled  at  him  seemed  more 
than  a  crime.  When  Andrew  Bain  preached  his 
Philippic  against  woman's  depravity,  pointing  his 
finger  straight  at  the  Professor  a  dozen  times, 
Stuart  was  the  first  to  congratulate  the  worthy 
reverend  at  the  close  of  the  sermon.  "What  can 
we  do  with  such  a  hardened  sinner  I ' '  the  women 
cried  in  unison. 

It  was  indeed  a  hopeless  case.  All  they  could 
do  w^as  to  read  the  prophecies  more  carefully  and 
grow  stronger  in  the  faith.  Some  bitter  punish- 
ment must  come  to  the  town,  so  bitter  that  they 
shuddered  to  think  of  it. 

Thus  Euth  became  not  only  the  center  of  town 
controversy  but  of  state-wide  agitation.  It  fre- 
quently got  into  the  Presbytery  and  even  in  the 
committee  rooms  of  the  General  Assembly.  But 
what  might  be  done  not  even  the  wisest  could  say. 
For  once  the  catechism  was  short  of  perfection. 
There  is  no  mention  of  what  is  woman 's  chief  end. 
Through  this  omission  a  thorn  arose  which  had 
to  be  endured  until  God  saw  fit  to  withdraw  it. 
Had  some  other  father  sought  to  do  what  Stuart 
did  the  experiment  might  have  been  more  promis- 
ing. The  girl  ought  to  have  had  a  higher  fore- 
head and  broader  chin  to  be  an  apt  disciple  of 
the  doctrines  her  father  taught.  They  never  got 
into  her  heart;  anybody  but  the  Professor  woul*^ 
have  given  up  his  chosen  task  before  the  year 
was  out.  But  to  him  this  aloofness  was  a  virtue. 
It  showed,  he  thought,  a  true  budding  of  woman- 
hood. Let  the  plant  grow;  the  flower  will  come; 
after  which  the  fruit.  The  merry  prattle  of  a  girl 
will  change  to  the  serious  conduct  of  the  woman 
in  nature's  own  way.    The  more  she  laughs,  the 


THE  PROFESSOR  29 

less  she  thinks,  the  better  will  be  the  basis  on 
which  her  motherhood  rests. 

Women  were  to  him  a  product  fitted  to  its  end 
in  nature's  supreme  way.  He  did  not  expect  a 
girl  to  be  intellectual;  he  had  no  love  of  child 
precocity.  ''The  healthy,"  he  was  fond  of  say- 
ing, ' '  have  plenty  of  time. ' '  Smiling  at  tlie  pranks 
of  the  girl,  he  rejoiced  in  her  ignorance  and  was 
fond  of  telling  about  mistakes  which  would  have 
made  another  father  flush.  A  series  of  exact 
measurements  were  taken  every  month  in  which 
the  size  of  hand  and  foot  figured  prominently. 
Her  shoes  he  showed  his  visitors  with  great  de- 
light. They  were  two  sizes  larger  than  worn  by 
girls  of  her  age. 

Her  weight  alone  fell  short  of  the  ideal  record. 
While  well  boned  and  muscular,  she  had  slim 
ease  of  movement  that  made  her  attractive.  Bro- 
ham,  the  artist,  said  she  had  too  much  chin  to  be 
a  Madonna  and  not  enough  nose  to  be  a  Grecian 
goddess.  Perhaps  this  is  so.  She  certainly  had 
nothing  of  the  Madonna  about  her.  No  Italian 
artist  would  have  picked  her  as  a  model.  Her 
nose  may  have  been  slight  but  her  eyes  flashed  as 
she  smiled  and  her  cheer  was  proverbial.  Frank 
and  outspoken,  she  gained  the  reputation  of  for- 
wardness, yet  she  was  not  self-centered  nor  over- 
confident. 

Such  was  the  girl  but  of  more  imx^ortance  was 
her  viron.  Except  across  the  street  she  never 
saw  other  girls  and  hence  had  none  of  their  man- 
ner nor  world  view.  Her  father  was  her  sole 
companion  through  her  earlier  years;  later  the 
athletic  field  became  the  center  of  her  interest. 
Only  a  hedge  separated  her  home  from  the  field 
through  which  she  made  her  advent  on  what  was 
to  become  her  chosen  haunt.  She  laughed  and 
chatted  with  the  boys  or  slept  within  the  shade  of 
overhanging  trees.     Her  language  was  a  boy's 


30  MUD  HOLLOW 

language.  She  knew  their  current  terms  and  used 
them  freely.  To  hear  her  one  would  think  a  boy 
was  talking  unless  he  recognized  her  voice.  Her 
familiarity  with  games  enabled  her  to  use  the 
jargon  of  the  athletic  field  effectively.  No  one 
counted  with  her  unless  he  could  jump,  run,  bat 
or  buck  the  line.  She  had  the  heart  of  a  girl  and 
the  ways  of  a  boy. 


The  Faculty  Tea 

The  center  of  attention  was  the  faculty  bride, 
fresh  from  college  with  all  the  presumption  which 
advanced  courses  give  to  women.  She  shook  her 
head  in  a  way  which  indicated  an  awareness  of 
her  superiority.  An  expert  in  everything  from 
anthropology  to  modern  literature,  she  expressed 
herself  with  more  authority  than  young  women 
at  Bowman  were  accustomed  to  have. 

"What  does  she  mean?"  said  one.  "Is  she 
trying  to  make  fun  of  us?  That  young  man  will 
discover  a  Ph.D.  after  his  wife's  name  won't  help 
him  much." 

"Oh,  it'll  rub  off  after  a  while,"  said  Mrs. 
Wells,  the  mother  emeritus  of  the  faculty.  ' '  She 
isn't  any  worse  than  most  of  the  new  instructors. 
Sh-she's  coming  over  here  now." 

Mrs.  Powell  threaded  her  way  through  the 
small  groups  around  the  patent  plush  rocker  in 
Avhich  her  hostess  sat,  drew  a  chair  for  Mrs.  Wells 
and  arranged  that  lady  in  it.  Then  lowering  a 
window  shade,  she  made  herself  "Very  much  at 
home  in  another  woman's  house."  "The  idea!" 
was  the  unconscious  judgment  of  a  dozen  behold- 
ers. 

"Where  are  the  f acuity f"  asked  Mrs.  Powers 
in  her  full  voice.    "Do  husbands  ever  drop  in? — 


THE  FACULTY  TEA  31 

No?  Well,  what  shall  I  do  to  meet  that  dear  old 
posey,  Professor  Stuart?  He  doesn't  seem  to  be 
of  the  calling  kind ;  I  want  to  talk  to  him  about 
his  theories.  Reading  his  essay  to  my  husband, 
he  said  my  periods  became  positively  rotund,  that 
I  made  gestures  and  raised  my  eyes  to  heaven. 
Professor  Stuart  told  me  I  was  by  nature  a  god- 
dess. You've  seen  the  article,  haven't  you?  Mill, 
Rousseau — a  dash  of  Plato — plus  the  poetic  ideal- 
ism of  the  author's  own  self.  Do  you  agree  with 
him,  Mrs.  Ames!  Are  we  a  seraphic  host  sweeter 
than  what  honey-bees  extract  from  flowers'?" 

The  dignity  of  Mrs.  Ames '  displeasure  with  the 
free,  easy  manner  of  this  probationary  alien  was 
not  touched  by  the  thrust.  She  clasped  her  fingers 
below  her  waist,  while  she  spoke  in  measured 
tones :  "  I  differ  with  Malcolm  Stuart  on  principle 
and  never  believe  a  word  he  says  about  women, 
God  or  anything  else.  We  earn  redemption  by 
thorns  and  sacrifice,  not  by  tasting  what  the 
tempter  has  to  offer. ' ' 

Mrs.  Powell  laughed  and  said,  "Yes,  I  agree 
with  you;  we  ought  to  earn  our  spurs  before  we 
wear  them.  After  all,  miglitn  't  we  accept  his  the- 
sis for  the  sake  of  the  assumption  in  his  argu- 
ment? I'm  willing  to  blink  the  facts  of  social 
evolution  just  to  hear  what  compliments  such  an 
old  dear  will  pay  us  next." 

"Oh,  you  woudn't  like  to  hear  him  talk — he's 
so  embarrassing  in  private!  I'm  very  sure  your 
husband  wouldn't,  either.  A  man  doesn't  want 
his  wife  to  get  into  such  dicussions." 

"What  discussions!  Do  tell  me.  As  for  Doctor 
Powell,  he  proposed  in  the  midst  of  a  Ph.D.  disser- 
tation on  Polyandry  in  Tibet;  I  should  divorce 
him  if  he  objected  to  anything  such  a  delightful 
cameo  as  Professor  Stuart  could  possibly  say." 

"He's  a  slick  talker.  Were  it  anybody  else,  I'd 
call  him  foxy.     In  the  middle  of  the  street  lay 


32  MUD  HOLLOW 

Miss  Ruth  flat  on  her  back,  throwing  dust  over 
herself.  I  spoke  right  out :  '  Is  that  the  way  you 
bring  up  a  girl,  half  hen  and  half  pig  ? '  Laughing 
like  a  great  boob,  he  said,  '  If  she  and  the  dust  are 
cousins,  why  not  embrace  ? '  I  answered  him  right 
back —  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  before  I  w^ent.  If 
you  don't,  he  winds  you  around  his  little  finger. 
So  I  gave  him  as  good  as  he  sent.  '  She  has  a  soul 
to  save  and  the  dust  hasn't.  A  clean  girl  makes 
a  good  mother,  that's  why.' 

''  'So  you  agree  with  Demonthenes,  I  perceive,' 
says  he. 

"  'Oh,  I  don't  know  whether  I  agree  with  him 
or  not,'  I  answered  back.  Then  he  smiled  in  his 
sarcastic  way,  '  I  am  confident  you  do.  The  Bow- 
man  and   the   Greek  idea   are   essentially  one.' 

''  'It's  no  such  thing.  BoAvman  is  Christian, 
Greeks  worshipped  horned  cattle.  Such  as  you 
brought  into  that  horrid  play  last  spring.' 

"Then  I  came  home,  mad  way  through.  That's 
the  worst  of  talking  to  him.  You  don't  know 
what's  coming  next,  and  he  says  such  perfectly 
dreadful  things,  lugging  in  anything  so  long  as 
it  makes  a  point,  whether  it  ought  to  be  there  or 
not." 

"But  if  it  makes  a  point,  the  material  is  cer- 
tainly relevant,"  said  Mrs.  Powell. 

"Not  when  it's  untrue,  never  w^hen  it's  sugges- 
tive," stated  Mrs.  Ames  with  fine  theological  de- 
terminism, made  emphatic  by  the  perception  that 
the  speaker  was  not  quite  refined. 

"It  is  best  that  Ruth  should  be  taught  things 
that  will  fit  her  to  become  a  useful  woman,  with  all 
the  privileges  of  a  Christian  community.  She 
should  know  how  to  keep  house,  to  cook  and  sew. 
Mrs.  Wells  offered  to  teach  her  but  her  father  is 
deaf  to  reason.  I  have  urged  him  to  bring  his 
widowed  sister  here  to  look  after  Ruth,  instead  of 
that  ignorant  old  colored  woman — but  no!" 


THE  FACULTY  TEA  33 

*'He  keeps  Mammy  on  that  very  account,  you 
know,"  added  Mrs.  Wells. 

"How  interesting!"  said  Mrs.  Powell.  "What 
is  his  reasoning? 

"His  reasoning  is  that  he  doesn't  want  her 
restrained,  frightened  or  disciplined.  He  claims 
that  this  old  slave  woman  who  was  his  wife's 
playmate  down  South  is  the  only  woman  who 
won't  twist  her  out  of  the  pattern  God  intended 
for  her.  Every  woman  in  the  church  is  up  in  arms 
about  it.  Oh,  how  that  harum-scarum  gets  on  my 
nerves.  Only  yesterday  I  saw  Miss  Ruth  on  the 
lawn  kneeling  head-over-heels  as  if  no  man  were 
within  a  hundred  miles — somersaults,  handsprings, 
cartwheels  the  boys  call  them.  I  was  so  dis- 
gusted after  all  the  effort  that  has  been  made  for 
her  safety  that  I  spoke  to  her  father  about  it.  I 
did  not  mince  matters,  I  assure  you ! — but  he  was 
as  bland  and  stubborn  as  ever.  He  began  to  be 
poetic  about  the  grass  and  the  birds  and  what 
not." 

Mrs.  Powell  repressed  a  smile  which  led  Mrs. 
Ames  into  the  role  of  post-interpreter. 

"What  did  he  say?"  repeated  Mrs.  Ames,  mus- 
ing. ' '  W-e-11,  he  wanted  to  know  what  could  harm 
a  pure  girl  on  the  clean  grass  with  the  blue  sky 
above.  Does  it  harm  the  5fr<is.^  Isn't  it  as  much 
her  habitat  as  theirs?  My,  what  is  the  world 
coming  to  when  a  girl  can  again  dress  in  an  apron 
of  leaves? 

"I  then  asked  why  he  didn't  send  her  away  to 
some  girls'  boarding  school  until  she  was  ready 
for  college.  He  made  the  answer  I  expected — 
precisely.  No  schooling  for  Madame  Ruth  that 
doesn't  accord  with  his  fanatical  ideas.  His 
women  are  all  queens  sitting  on  thrones,  half 
dressed,  glimmering  in  the  dawn.  I  declare, ' '  she 
concluded  faintly,  "sometimes  it  seems  as  if  a 
widower  had  lost  his  last  grain  of  common  sense. 


34  MUD  HOLLOW 

Dear,  dear  I  I  do  hope  nothing  will  happen  to 
the  poor,  neglected,  tempted  child.  I  wish  she'd 
let  me  mother  her.  She 's  a  real  sweet  girl  after 
all." 

''To  me  she  is  extremely  attractive — unusually 
so,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Powell.  "To  be  sure,  I've 
scarcely  met  her,  but  I  thought  her  unaffectedly 
simple,  very  keenly  alive — like  a  splendid  boy,  but 
beautiful — like  a  woman." 

"She  is  not  considered  attractive  by  the  Bow- 
man people  who  are  qualified  to  judge.  Her 
father  is  cultured  enough  himself,  but  he  doesn't 
believe  in  it  for  women.  From  what  I  make  out 
of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Wells,  plaintively,  "women 
can  do  exactly  as  they  want  to  because  we  were 
born  to  do  right.  In  spite  of  all  he  says  about 
God  and  duty,  I  think  he  is  more  of  a  Unitarian 
than  Presbyterian." 

"If  that's  so,  why  not  take  it  to  the  Presby- 
tery?" 

"We  have  but  it  is  no  use.  Men  are  such  cow- 
ards. If  they  had  the  least  gumption  things  would 
go  right. 

' '  That 's  so, ' '  put  in  Mrs.  Ward.  ' '  Just  like  my 
Ralph.  'You  know'  said  I,  'that  the  Professor 
will  bring  everlasting  disgrace  on  the  whole  town. 
Why  don't  you  talk  to  him?'  'I  can't.  No  man 
can  talk  to  his  captain.'  Finally  he  said,  'Let 
Jimmy  Sloan  talk  to  him.'  'Jimmy  Sloan,'  said 
I,  'Jimmy  Sloan  is  an  ass,  a  conceited  ass.' 
♦That's  the  trouble,'  said  he,  'everybody  in  town 
is  either  an  old  soldier  or  an  ass.  The  old  soldiers 
won't  talk  to  him  and  the  others  dare  not. '  There 
you  have  it.  If  men  won't  do  their  duty,  women 
are  helpless." 

"That's  just  what  I  said  to  George" — ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Holman — 'you  are  a  burgess  of  the 
town,  a  banker,  a  lawyer,  a  deacon.     Face  the 


THE  FACULTY  TEA  35 

deceptive  creature.  The  moral  law  must  be  up- 
held/ 

"So  he  went.  The  professor  met  him  on  the 
steps,  sat  him  in  his  best  chair;  they  talked  war, 
politics,  scripture,  laughing  and  disputing  until 
the  supper  bell  rang.  He  never  realized  how  the 
professor  had  put  it  over  on  him  until  crossing 
the  street  he  saw  the  girl  hanging  by  her  toes  on 
the  trapeze.  But  then  it  w^as  too  late  to  go 
back!" 

Mrs.  Powell  tried  to  think  of  some  bright  say- 
ing to  turn  the  discussion  her  way.  None  seemed 
to  fit.  Relief  came  from  a  multitude  of  voices 
down  the  street.  It  w^as  the  opening  day  for 
athletics.  Along  they  rushed,  first  the  girl  wav- 
ing the  college  flag,  then  several  boys  with  instru- 
ments which  made  more  noise  than  music.  The 
team  and  then  a  howling  mob.  They  stopped 
before  the  professor's  house.  Judged  by  the 
cheering,  what  he  said  must  have  been  thrilling. 

They  return.  This  time  the  professor  leads,  the 
girl  is  carried  on  the  shoulder  of  Tom  Kidd,  the 
music  and  the  team  are  a  bit  mixed ;  the  boys  are 
noisier  than  ever,  zigzagging  across  the  street  in 
their  merry  dance. 

"My,"  said  Mrs.  Jordan,  "I  would  not  want 
my  Jane  to  dress  like  that.  Absolutely  nothing 
but  bleating  tinsels.  It's  enough  to  give  one  a 
conniption  fit." 

"When  I  was  a  girl,"  put  in  Mrs.  Burton, 
"boys  went  to  prayer  meeting  as  regular  as  the 
clock.  Sunday  night  they  sat  in  back,  watching 
the  girls  in  the  choir.  Now  girls  are  nowhere. 
To  no  one  will  they  listen  but  the  professor.  Then 
there  were  debates  and  orations,  but  no  such 
'doings  as  he  eggs  them  on  to.  He  even  winks 
when  they  study  on  Sunday  to  make  up  for  time 
lost  on  that  abominable  field.  I  wish  the  weeds 
grew  there  as  they  used  to.    Then  virtue  would 


36  MUD  HOLLOW 

have  its  reward.  But  it  is  easier  to  talk  than  to 
do  when  Malcolm  Stuart  is  around.  Is  he  right 
or  are  we?  You  can't  help  learning  his  head- 
hnes;  he  has  been  shouting  them  hither  and  yon 
for  twenty  years." 

"Does  he  really  talk  like  that?" 

"Talk  like  that?  That's  only  a  beginning. 
Picking  up  a  union  suit,  he  said,  'Petticoats  are 
needless  ornaments.  No  girl  should  cover  her 
knees  except  in  a  snow  storm' — the  idea,  where 
would  modesty  be  without  a  garment  to  hide  be- 
hind? A  girl's  knee  is  so  sacred  she  should  not 
see  it  even  when  she  washes.  I  never  leave  him 
without  blushing  to  the  roots  of  my  hair," 

"  'Clothe  not  the  body  with  raiment  but  the 
soul  with  righteousness,'  he  preached  from  the 
text,  saying  his  translation  of  the  scripture  was 
better  than  the  authorized  version.  The  idea  that 
man  can  improve  what  was  written  bv  the  hand 
of  God." 

"  'A  woman  needs  no  covering  for  her  virtue* 
• — say  if  you  will  this  is  not  vile ! 

"  'Beauty  was  not  made  to  be  hidden,  but  to 
be  seen.' 

"  'Dress  is  a  device  to  hide  the  defects  of  the 
soul.' 

"  'A  maid  is  never  contaminated  except  by  her 
mother. ' 

"  'Clothes  hide  what  virtue  adorns.' 

"If  you  were  to  talk  to  him  your  modesty  would 
be  shivering  in  two  minutes.  He  puts  girls,  birds 
and  flowers  together  and  would  make  a  public 
exhibition  of  them  all." 

And  so  on,  a  dozen  voices  joining  in  the  unison 
of  denunciation,  each  more  emphatic  than  the 
other.  Then  they  paused,  looked  stern,  bit  their 
lips.  A  common  thought  was  in  everyone's  mind, 
an  oft-expressed  wish  to  which  no  solution  came. 


THE  FACULTY  TEA  37 

'•We  got  rid  of  saloons  twenty  years  ago,  but 
one  professor  is  worse  than  a  dozen  saloons." 

A  new  outburst  was  prevented  by  steps  in  the 
hall.  Through  the  open  door  came  Mrs.  Dickson, 
with  Mrs.  Holden,  the  Kansas  firebrand,  on  her 
arm. 

The  two  women  as  they  sat  in  their  chairs  of 
honor  were  much  alike  and  yet  different.  Both 
had  heavy  chins  and  a  firm  setting  to  the  mouth. 
Mrs.  Dickson  had  a  sunken  middle-face  and  a  high 
forehead.  Her  companion  had  high  cheek-bones, 
a  projecting  nose  and  slanting  forehead.  Her 
eyes  were  large,  mild  and  blue.  From  them  one 
would  never  have  imagined  the  deeds  w^hich  filled 
the  liquor-controlled  papers  with  horror.  But 
looking  down,  the  cause  of  their  terror  became 
apparent.  Her  muscles  had  the  rigidity  of  iron — 
working  with  her  jaws,  not  with  her  eyes.  She 
was  a  cross  between  a  Methodist  and  a  Calvinist, 
having  the  will  of  the  one  and  the  emotion  of  the 
other. 

The  older  western  states  were  settled  by  cur- 
rents of  immigration  from  several  directions, 
each  of  which  retained  its  individuality.  The 
unifying  force  was  Methodism,  which  drew  into  its 
fold  the  scattered  remnants  of  many  diverse 
groups.  Calvinism  could  not  hold  its  own  in  the 
open  environment  of  the  West.  Its  force  is  in  its 
chains  and  fears.  When  these  bonds  break,  de- 
cay sets  in.  Methodism  thus  wrought  a  union  of 
primitive  races  and  backsliding  Calvinists.  In 
their  union  we  have  a  confusion  of  types;  the 
crescent-faced  Puritan  intermarrying  with  the 
full-faced  primitive  stock.  East  of  the  Missis- 
sippi the  older  race  strata  are  to  some  degree 
yet  visible  but  to  the  west  the  half-breeds  caused 
by  the  intermingling  are  dominant.  The  result 
is  more  emotion  and  will,  less  reserve  and  self- 
control.    Kansas,  thinking  more  quickly,  is  more 


38  MUD  HOLLOW; 

intuitive  iii  judgment  than  New  England.  It  is 
Illinois  straiaed  and  magnified.  Fire  and  will  are 
united  instead  of  opposed. 

"We  rightly  expect  waves  of  emotion  to  start  in 
the  highlands  of  the  west  and  to  lose  force  as  they 
come  east.  This  is  partly  the  result  of  climate. 
The  upland  does  not  have  the  muggy  climate  of 
the  coast.  But  the  larger  element  in  the  change 
is  due  to  a  mixture  of  two  types  giving  the  half- 
breed  a  strong  chin,  high  cheek-bones  and  a  re- 
cediug  forehead.  This  combination  makes  a  good 
pugilist  and  athlete.  Emotion  and  will  unite; 
enthusiasm  and  persistency  result.  Great  stores 
of  energy  thro^vn  like  a  bolt  give  results  that  care- 
ful thinking  cannot  attain. 

When  this  spirit  comes  to  women  they  lose  the 
reserve  that  men  of  older  civilizations  admire. 
They  enter  where  they  will ;  they  strike  with  the 
celerity  of  man,  if  not  his  force.  Of  this  type 
was  Mrs.  Holden,  a  queer  combination  of  ruthless 
aggression  and  timid  womanliness.  Today  she  is 
one,  tomorrow  the  other;  hating  with  bitterness, 
loving  with  eager  tenderness. 

In  this  way  Kansas  women  take  the  lead.  With 
them  the  temperance  movement  entered  a  new 
stage,  of  which  Mrs.  Holden  was  a  fitting  repre- 
sentative. Where  she  went  liquor  moistened  the 
streets,  not  the  throats  of  men. 

Her  talk  thrilled  her  audience.  Even  their  limp 
muscles  occasionally  twitched,  showing  that 
thought  was  transforming  itself  into  action.  Still 
the  old  longing  remained;  the  old  problem  kept 
coming  back.  The  devil  in  Kansas  was  a  saloon- 
keeper, in  Bowman  he  was  a  professor.  Blows 
could  check  the  one  but  what  would  silence  the 
other!  They  longed  to  put  the  question  direct 
but  a  knock  came.  Mr.  Ward,  entering,  stood  at 
attention  with  whip  in  hand. 
Smiling,  Mrs.  Ward  arose  and  said,  "John  is 


%. 


THE  FACULTY  TEA  39 

always  on  time.  I  hope,  Mrs.  Holden,  you  do  not 
have  to  make  the  5:10  train." 

She  had  evidently  forgotten  what  she  had  said 
of  her  husband's  moral  cowardice  for  she  put  her 
arm  affectionately  on  his  shoulder,  and  gleamed 
with  happiness  at  the  thought  of  a  husband  w^ho 
was  always  on  time.  Mrs.  Holden  was  firm.  An 
evening  lecture  engagement  must  be  met.  Just 
as  the  handshaking  was  finished  she  said ; 

"Oh,  I  almost  forgot  my  message.  Lecturing 
at  Mud  Hollow  last  week,  I  heard  of  the  greatest 
boy  ever  who  is  coming  here.  He  is  an  angel  in 
the  bud — so  say  the  old  soldiers,  the  women  and 
everybody  else.  His  father  was  a  war  hero,  his 
mother  a  saint  if  there  ever  were  one.  He  has 
great  possibilities;  a  ready-made  hero,  keen  for 
any  great  cause.  Don't  let  him  fall  into  the 
wrong  hands. '  ^ 

"We  won't,"  said  a  dozen  voices  in  unison, 
their  thought  going  straight  to  the  professor. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Dickson,  approvingly,  "we 
need  martyrs.  The  Lord  loveth  a  blood  sacrifice. 
The  best  are  His.  A  hero  on  the  rack  makes 
heaven  smile." 

Amid  a  chorus  of  good-byes,  the  bays  darted 
away.  Then  each  woman  hastened  to  her  kitchen. 
No  matter  how  they  thought,  they  were  good 
housewives. 

"Putrid  innocence,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Powell, 
mounting  her  step.  "Must  I  feed  with  these 
sweet  geraniums  all  my  life!  Temperance,  theol- 
ogy, knees.  Not  a  ^vord  of  Ibsen  or  Shaw  nor 
even  a  Browning  Club  to  relieve  the  monotony. 
Pennsylvania  'corrupt  and  contented.'  No; 
that's  not  it.  She's  dead,  petrified,  turned  to 
salt— Hell!  I  might  as  well  learn  to  wash  dishes 
and  be  done  with  it." 


40  MUD  HOLLOW 

VI 

College  Opens 

Paul  Brown  stopped  when  he  saw  that  he  was 
too  late  to  enter  chapel  with  the  herd  of  excited 
Freshmen  shoving  through  the  doorway.  Had  he 
by  nature  been  a  class  man,  he  would  have  run 
after  them;  had  his  perceptions  been  less  slow, 
he  would  have  followed  the  traditions  which  were 
its  breathing  soul.  Arousing  his  self-conscious- 
ness, they  would  have  warned  him  that  he  was 
too  conspicuous  against  the  skyline,  too  raw,  too 
big  to  stand  in  isolation  from  his  appointed  mass. 
Whatever  the  power  of  the  ideals  that  brought 
these  sober  country  boys  to  Bowman,  most  of 
them  would  have  been  swept  along  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  first  morning  of  the  college  year. 
The  country  boy  in  town  is  a  sharp  observer. 

But  this  one  stood,  a  target  for  hostile  com- 
ment, as  deeply  occupied  with  his  intense  pur- 
pose as  when  he  had  stopped  at  the  end  of  a 
furrow,  letting  the  horses  sniff  the  ground.  With 
the  old  gesture  of  relief  he  pushed  his  soft  hat 
away  from  his  forehead,  brushing  back  the  brist- 
ling, newly  cut  hair. 

The  campus  had  quickly  emptied  of  men;  dor- 
mitory windows  opened  from  vacant  rooms  to  the 
south  wind ;  the  professors'  hired  girls  shook  their 
dusters  on  the  porches  that  looked  over  the 
campus.  The  fourth  boundary  of  the  field  was  a 
clean  line  of  cropped  emerald  turf,  beyond  which 
the  vigilant  lawn  mower  had  no  concern  for  the 
tangled  grass  which  grew  wildly  to  the  foot  of  a 
tumbling  stone  fence  meshed  in  silvered  clematis 
and  carmined  blackberry,  half  buried  in  the  lovely 
spray  of  goldenrod  that  dashed  against  the  lich- 
ened  stones.     On  the  other  side  of  the  tossed, 


COLLEGE  OPENS  41 

flowery  back,  wide  meadows  dipped  gently  down- 
ward, then  upslanted  softly  to  a  dark,  harsh  ridge, 
misplaced  and  powerful.  It  cleft  them  brutally 
with  naked  feet  of  gneiss  and  granite,  shouldering 
across  the  high  pastures  to  a  little  talking  stream 
above  which  it  hung  with  a  worn,  barren  crust. 
It  was  like  a  primeval  silence  cleaving  mute 
sounds,  which  Paul,  Avithout  volition,  turned  from 
the  college  to  study.  He  met  its  sullen  challenge 
by  a  blind  clinching  of  his  great  hands. 

The  waving  fields  of  grain  bring  a  smile  of 
victory  to  the  western  farmer's  face.  Every  inch 
of  that  soil  he  has  transformed,  beaten  into  shape, 
forced  to  express  his  wish.  The  swamp  he 
drained,  the  ridge  he  lowered,  the  soil  he  manured 
— all  is  self-expression.  A  rock,  a  boulder,  is  an 
irritating  obstacle,  an  eternal  reminder  of  man's 
helplessness.  Break  it,  hide  it,  crush  it.  Who 
can  smile  when  he  is  taunted  by  an  untamed 
force? 

Paul  felt  an  impulse  to  put  his  shoulder  against 
the  uplifted  mass  and  push  it  over  into  the  valley 
below.  As  he  was  planning  this  the  thought  of 
his  mission  came  back.  He  had  come  not  to 
transform  Pennsylvania  rocks  into  Indiana  soil, 
but  to  figlit  an  incorporeal  fight  with  Malcolm 
Stuart  as  his  guide. 

Such  was  Paul's  reaction  as  he  faced  the  huge 
uplift  which  the  servile  native  went  humbly 
around.  If  he  stopped  to  look  he  called  it  beauti- 
ful, or  if  awed  thought  it  a  manifestation  of  God's 
power.  But  Paul's  God  was  not  of  this  sort. 
What  is  the  greater  God,  He  who  left  Pennsyl- 
vania a  mass  of  obtruding  obstacles,  or  He  who 
rolled  oiit  the  great  prairies  of  the  West?  The 
answer  is  not  so  obvious  as  the  lover  of  hills 
imagines.    Paul,  at  least,  had  the  Western  view. 

Ah,  where  could  his  hero  be?  In  guessing,  he 
turned  into  a  path  at  right  angles  to  the  one  upon 


42  MUD  hollow: 

which  he  stood  and  walked  forward  to  an  area 
intersected  with  lime  lines  and  dotted  with  bare 
spots.  This  he  regarded  with  attention — the  first 
athletic  field  he  had  ever  seen.  Was  it  not  foot- 
less and  puerile  to  measure  strength  by  ungainful 
devices  upon  the  ground  ?  Thus  the  young  farmer 
was  inclined  to  judge,  for  his  own  body  had  come 
to  unconscious,  unexplored  perfection  through  the 
garnering  of  harvests  by  the  sheer  force  of  will- 
ing muscles.  But  the  life  of  which  this  was  a  part 
was  hallowed  by  the  influence  of  one  man;  a 
surge  of  tenderness  washed  away  his  judgment 
against  whatever  touched  this  man's  daily  life; 
all  was  potent,  for  an  instant  all  was  right. 

The  boys  in  the  chapel  began  to  sing  the  college 
song,  to  which  Paul  would  have  listened  if  he  had 
not  heard  a  sharp  cry  of  distress  and  the  scrape 
of  feet  behmd  a  group  of  thick  bushes  that  deco- 
rated the  campus. 

There  he  saw  a  girl  half-lying  on  the  ground 
beside  a  flat,  broad  stone.  She  seemed  dazed,  her 
lips  were  firmly  closed  as  if  to  control  uneven 
breathing.  An  abraded  red  line  extended  from 
her  temple  to  her  cheek.  She  was  so  slight  that 
Paul  thought  she  was  a  child  trying  not  to  sob. 
Touching  the  abrasion  with  his  handkerchief,  he 
said: 

''There,  now,  don't  cry.  How  did  you  hap- 
pen to  stumble  over  such  a  stone  as  that,  I'd  like 
to  know?" 

A  spark  illumined  her  tear-filled  eyes,  but  she 
did  not  move.  Putting  his  hands  beneath  her 
arms,  he  lifted  her  to  her  feet  with  the  exagger- 
ated tenderness  displayed  to  small  children. 

''Let's  sit  on  the  stone  a  minute,"  he  said, 
"while  you  tell  me  about  it." 

She  took  his  handkerchief  and  brushed  her 
hands,   slapping  it  twice   across   her   dress;   he 


COLLEGE  OPENS  43 

saw  she  was  not  the  child  her  quivering  lips  and 
grieved  eyes  had  pictured  her. 

''Don't  bother,"  she  said,  "I'm  all  right  now, 
but  it  did  hurt  like  fury  for  a  minute.  I  was 
just  practicing  the  standing  broad  jump  and  I 
flunked  it.  Didn't  have  my  right  shoes  on — that's 
why  I  couldn't  recover  when  I  came  down  on  the 
slant  of  the  edge."  She  spoke  briskly,  making 
no  show  of  gratitude  as  she  limped  away. 

Paul  attempted  a  diversion,  but  he  was  unable 
quickly  to  alter  his  manner  to  meet  the  radically 
different  situation. 

"Well,  I  never,"  he  ejaculated.  "Is  this  where 
you  practice  jumping?  Wonder  if  I  could  get 
over?  You  watch  me  now,  and  we'll  see  if  a  girl 
can  beat  a  boy." 

She  remained  haughty  and  plainly  harassed  by 
the  ignominy  of  defeat  commented  upon  by  a 
stranger,  yes,  probably  a  Freshman.  He  adjust- 
ed himself  and  cleared  the  rock  after  some  by- 
play. 

"Uh!"  she  said,  "do  it  again." 

He  complied. 

"Once  more." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  be  silly.  Here!  The  record  is  ten 
inches  beyond  this  corner — three  years  old.  Try 
it,  try  it." 

He  smiled  doubtfully  at  her  command. 

"I  guess  I'll  have  to  take  a  little  run  to  do 
that." 

"No  you  daren't  run;  it's  a  standing  jump," 
she  said.    "Now!" 

"But  how '11  we  know  if  I  get  more  than  ten 
inches  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  gracious,"  she  scoffed,  "I'll  measure. 
What's  the  difference,  now  or  after?" 

She  laid  her  hands  along  the  ground,  then  drew 
her  heel  edge  through  it. 


44  MUD  HOLLOW 

"Here's  Jordan's  record.    Beat  it." 

Paul  estimated  the  force  with  which  he  must 
drive;  it  was  a  long  jump,  but  he  concluded  it 
was  but  a  matter  of  co-ordination ;  fixing  his  eye 
upon  the  line,  he  landed  just  beyond  it.  The  girl 
shrieked ! 

"Who  are  you?  What's  your  name?  Where 
are  you  from?  Oh!  What's  your  department? 
Don't  be  a  theologue!" 

"Tell  me  your  name.  I  discovered  you,"  he 
laughed. 

Instead  of  replying  she  snatched  the  handker- 
chief, which  she  had  taken  from  him  to  dabble  at 
her  abraded  cheek,  and  waved  it  high  above  her 
head.  Through  the  wide  chapel  door  boys  were 
pouring  in  all  directions  across  the  campus.  Paul 
turned  and  saw  them,  when  his  companion  called 
again  and  again — 

"Jordan's  record's  gone!" 

"Oh,  get  out!    No  greeny  can  do  that." 

They  crowded  about  Paul  who,  after  whirling 
to  escape  the  discomfort  of  being  looked  at  by 
people  behind  him,  stood  still,  embarrassed,  sur- 
prised to  find  himself  the  center  of  a  jesting, 
laughing  throng. 

"Show  them,  show  them,"  she  cried.  "Wait, 
here  comes  Captain  Gannett.  Fred,  Fred,"  she 
called,  "here's  a  splendid  man  I've  found  for 
you.  He  broke  the  broad  jump  record  without 
practice.  And  he  weighs  one-eighty  stripped. 
Don't  you?" 

The  football  captain  scanned  Paul's  possibili- 
ties with  a  critically  narrowed  eye  and  offered  his 
hand  to  the  silent  novice. 

"Happy  fellow!  Congratulations  on  meeting 
Miss  Ruth's  requirements.  She's  our  visiting 
consultant.    AVhat's  your  position?" 

*  *  Freshman — arts. ' ' 

Some  one  guffawed,  and  another  said,  "Truly 


COLLEGE  OPENS  45 

rural."     The  captain  immediately  appeared  en- 
nuied. 

"I  mean  what  position  have  you  played  in 
football?"  he  repeated  patiently. 

"I  don't  play  football.  I've  never  seen  a  game 
and  I  don't  want  to  learn.    I  came  here  to  study." 

Some  exclamations  intended  to  disturb  him  rose 
from  the  boys  as  they  began  to  scatter. 

*' Never  mind,"  said  Euth,  with  breezy  protec- 
tiveness.  "You're  right,  just  the  same.  Fred, 
bring  him  to  the  house  tonight.  I  want  Father 
to  see  him.  He'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  All  the 
boys  come  to  him.  He's  Professor  Stuart,  you 
know. ' ' 

''Oh!    I  didn't  expect  to  meet  him  so  soon." 

Ruth  looked  at  Paul  a  moment,  then  at  the 
handkerchief,  and  cried, 

*'I  know  you.  You  are  Paul  Brown,  the 
Indiana  poet.  Father  got  your  poems  last  week ; 
I  read  them  to  Fred  and  we  had  a  good  laugh. 
Think  of  wasting  time  over  such  stuff  when  the 
outside  world  is  on  the  go !  You  have  muscles — 
why  not  use  them?  Pens  were  made  for  sillies 
like  Jim  Bailey,  white-livered  flamingoes  who 
squawk  but  cannot  run  or  bat.  That's  good 
enough  for  Indiana,  but  it  won't  go  in  Bowman. 
No  loitering  around  in  the  moonlight  here.  No 
buttonhole  lilies.  Buck  the  line,  pitch  the  ball, 
knock  a  home  run,  run  a  mile.  That's  what  counts ; 
no  monkeying  with  books.  Leave  the  Greek  roots 
unpuUed,  just  wade  in  and  do  your  best.  You 
have  lots  of  hair,  let  it  grow  tousled,  not  in  curly 
locks  like  Jim  Bailey,  our  Texas  beauty. 

"Dick,"  she  cried,  turning  to  a  stocky  youth 
in  the  front  row,  ' '  take  off  your  topper  and  show 
your  wool. 

"Look,"  as  the  youth  complied,  "that's  beauty. 
He  won't  comb  his  hair  until  the  season  is  over. 
Nor  open  a  book.    The  breakers  don 't  come  until 


46  MUD  HOLLOW 

February.  There  is  plenty  of  time  to  prepare 
after  the  snow  flies.  Now,  for  glory  and  Bow- 
man! 

"Father  is  expecting  you.  He  had  already 
marked  the  poems  'promising.'  But  don't  let 
that  boost  3^ou  up.  It  is  the  lowest  mark  he  ever 
gives.  From  that  it  goes  to  'charming,'  'exquis- 
ite,' 'the  promise  of  greatness,'  'the  budding  of 
genius,'  'the  hope  of  the  age.'  Father's  looking 
for  the  great  American  poet  and  sees  him  in  every 
stripling  who  hails  from  Indiana  or  Texas.  In- 
diana and  Texas — first  in  poetry  but  last  in  glory. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  team  from  either  state?" 

This  was  Paul's  reception.  He  had  traveled  a 
thousand  miles  to  reach  a  great  intellectual  cen- 
ter; a  place  where  art,  oratory  and  classics 
reigned.  He  had  expected  to  find  poets  in  every 
shady  nook,  orators  with  magical  powers  which 
excelled  those  of  Colonel  Saunders.  He  was  un- 
conscious of  body,  arms,  limbs,  so  absorbed  was 
he  in  literary  ideals.  Anybody  can  plow,  reap, 
pitch  hay  or  chop  wood.  Like  all  the  Browns  he 
did  these  without  thought.  For  them  he  expected 
no  praise.  But  to  do  what  you  can't,  only  that 
is  worth  while.  Paul  longed  for  a  world  where 
people  can  do  the  impossible  and  he  had  thought 
Bo^vman  was  the  place.  Oh,  what  a  drop  from 
the  clouds  was  the  reality  he  faced. 

But  Paul  was  game.  He  smiled  as  the  girl 
gave  him  her  hand. 

"You  are  mine,"  she  said,  Avith  a  look  of  ferv- 
ent adoration.  "I  am  so  glad  that  I  saw  you  first. 
I  just  knew  some  one  was  coming  to  help  us  out. 
You  are  he,  sure  enough.  Bring  him  tonight, 
Fred.    Good-bye,  until  then." 

She  walked  swiftly  toward  the  house  lieliind  the 
hedge,  straight-hipped,  straight-breasted,  lithe, 
and  buoyant.  Her  chopped  hair  gave  her  the 
look  of  a  boy  whom  she  also  resembled  in  agility 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  47 

and  frankness.  If  the  test  of  a  woman  is  to  bring 
cheer  Euth  could  meet  it,  yet  she  was  too  physical 
to  be  beautiful,  too  natural  to  be  virtuous. 

''She's  a  great  girl,"  observed  Gannett,  idly 
watching.  "If  you  want  to  call  tonight  I'll  be 
glad  to  take  you.  You'll  like  the  old  man.  He's 
all  to  the  good.  All  right,  make  it  Quad  Arch, 
seven-thirty,  so  long." 


VII 

A  Sexless  Soul 

The  two  met  that  evening  in  accordance  with 
the  code  forbidding  an  upper-classman  to  call 
upon  a  Freshman  in  his  room.  Yet  Gannett  was 
not  unwilling  to  appear  as  the  promx)t,  far-sighted 
patron  of  the  man  who  bore  more  signs  of  bril- 
liant athletics  than  any  recent  recruit.  They 
strolled  beneath  the  dormitory  windows  before 
turning  into  the  broad  walk  that  bounded  three 
sides  of  the  campus;  here  Gannett  pointed  out 
faculty  members  sitting  on  their  porches  with 
groups  of  callers ;  he  indicated  the  status  of  young 
men  they  met,  dressed  in  crisp,  light  vests  and 
newly  pressed  suits,  swinging  their  canes  on  the 
round  of  first-night  visits.  Paul  saw  a  suave  lift- 
ing of  hats,  and  such  a  fashionable  shaking  of 
hands  that  he  began  to  be  uncomfortable ;  but  the 
fear  that  he  was  alien  to  this  polished  life  could 
not  last  in  the  atmosphere  of  kindliness  which 
exhaled  on  them  all  from  the  hearts  of  the  schol- 
astic veterans  in  baggy  clothes  whose  dim,  tired 
wives  sat  aslant  as  if  listening  for  a  summons  to 
the  kitchen  or  the  crib. 

Gannett  said,  "Here  we  are,"  and  indicated 
the  green  pillars  of  a  hedge  between  which  they 
passed  to  a  deep,  rich  lawn  well-arched  with  chest- 


48  MUD  HOLLOW 

nut.    A  house  opened  its  wide  veranda  to  them  as 
down  its  steps  Ruth  ran. 

' '  It 's  you.    Isn  't  that  nice  ? ' ' 

Then  she  called  to  her  father  on  the  far  end  of 
the  porch. 

* '  Here  is  your  Indiana  poet,  fresh  and  raw.  I 
thought  he'd  be  like  Jim  Bailey,  but  he  isn't. 
Why  should  a  big  man  want  to  do  a  little  job 
when  the  world  is  full  of  cripples  who  can  do 
nothing  else?  That  is  father,  Paul,  unload  your 
poetry. ' ' 

The  Professor  came  forward,  taking  both  of 
Paul's  hands  in  his,  gave  him  a  welcome  which 
made  him  forget  the  ignominy  of  the  first  Bow- 
man contact. 

' '  Come  into  the  study,  Paul.  I  was  reading  that 
delightful  description  of  Indiana  mothers.  You 
won't  object,  I  am  sure,  to  my  quoting  it  in  a 
lecture  I  am  to  give  next  week. ' ' 

While  her  father  greeted  Gannett  and  shook 
hands  with  Paul,  Ruth  retold  the  story  of  meeting 
Paul  with  an  excitement  which  seemed  to  have 
accelerated  since  the  morning.  They  sauntered 
to  the  house.  Paul  neither  smiled  nor  spoke. 
Under  the  drop  light  at  the  door  he  abruptly 
faced  the  Professor,  whose  genial  smile,  like  the 
sudden  sparkle  of  the  sun  upon  the  sea,  sent  a 
message  down  into  the  heart  of  the  awed  admirer 
while  his  hands  chilled  and  twitched.^ 

Paul  knew  he  was  the  focus  of  the  silence  which 
ensued,  but  he  could  not  break  it.  In  the  con- 
fusion he  was  unwieldy. 

**It  is  a  great  honor "  he  said. 

*' Scarcely  an  honor,  Mr.  Brown.  My  daughter 
would  hardly  permit  that,  for  you  are  already 
persona  grata  here.  I  sometimes  think  this  is 
not  so  much  the  home  of  a  quiet  old  Pennsylvanian 
as  it  is  a  shrine  to  Hercules,  where  a  vestal  feeds 
the  flame.    But  come  into  my  study." 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  49 

The  study  ran  clear  across  the  front  of  the 
house,  with  open  windows  everywhere.  To  the 
rear  on  one  side  was  Ruth's  room;  on  the  other, 
the  dining  room  and  kitchen.  Bookshelves  showed 
their  friendly  faces  on  all  sides  of  the  room  except 
where  pictures  hung.  They  even  in  their  final 
extension  crowded  against  the  fireplace  before 
which  stood  a  table  and  the  Professor's  favorite 
chair. 

Books  are  an  index  of  a  man's  character.  Their 
gaps  show  his  defects ;  their  overgrown  parts  his 
love.  Looking  over  a  man's  books  while  you 
wait  for  his  appearance  will  tell  what  to  avoid 
and  where  to  tickle  his  fancy. 

Judged  in  this  way,  the  Professor's  thought 
was  easy  to  interpret.  There  was  an  immense 
collection  of  Greek  texts  but  scarcely  a  work  on 
philology  and  only  one  Greek  dictionary.  He  was 
no  scholar  in  the  modern  sense ;  merely  browsing 
as  his  fancy  dictated.  He  loved  to  read  the  Greek 
aloud.  Often  he  did  this  when  alone  to  catch  the 
right  shade  of  the  rhythm.  Ruth  is  the  only  girl 
perhaps  for  ages  who  was  put  to  sleep  by  the 
harmonious  flow  of  Greek  poetry. 

He  needed  no  dictionary  as  the  meaning  was  as 
clear  as  English,  nor  did  he  bother  about  the 
origin  of  words.  To  him  it  was  a  living  language 
to  be  taught  for  its  content  and  beauty.  His 
classes  would  flunk  the  examinations  now  set  for 
freshmen,  but  they  carried  away  an  inspiration 
that  no  other  subject  evoked.  He  was  called 
easy;  yet  an  alumnus  of  twenty  years  remem- 
bered more  he  had  said  than  all  other  professors 
put  together.  When  they  returned  on  college 
days,  they  slung  off  Greek  sayings  Avith  an  avidity 
that  would  put  a  modern  philologist  to  shame. 
Their  Greek  jokes  could  bring  a  laugh  because 
understood;  now  only  athletic  slang  brings  a  re- 
sponse. 


50  MUD  HOLLOW 

After  Greek  came  long  gaps  including  what 
every  professor  should  know.  You  might  look 
and  look,  and  the  more  you  looked  the  more  ^yould 
you  be  impressed  with  the  breaches  in  his  intel- 
lectual interests.  He  was  not  a  scholar,  nor  even 
a  reader. 

But  beyond  the  gaps  came  another  overgrown 
part.  Every  pamphlet  that  had  tlie  name  of 
woman  on  or  in  it  the  professor  bought.  The 
collection  was  built  on  no  principle ;  the  greatest 
confusion  prevailed  in  the  placing  of  books.  He 
was  before  the  epoch  of  card  catalogues,  despis- 
ing any  regularity  which  denoted  precision.  Im- 
pulse was  his  only  guide  and  that  was  of  a  fickle 
sort. 

One  of  these  collections  was  on  ancient  customs 
and  missionary  tales — "folk  ways"  as  they  now 
are  called.  They  were  his  great  storehouse  from 
which  to  draw  his  material  on  the  wrongs  of 
women.  He  shivered  as  he  read  these  pages.  His 
audiences  trembled  when  they  heard  them.  Many 
doubtless  were  false,  others  overdrawn,  but  they 
gave  the  basis  on  which  his  theories  rested. 
"Woman  dethroned  and  debased"  was  ever  on 
his  lips:  her  replacement  was  his  one  ideal.  He 
thus  had  a  glorious  mission  and  vivid  tales  to 
support  it.  What  more  than  this  and  Greek  liter- 
ature does  one  need  to  make  the  earth  a  fairy- 
land? 

Stately,  gentle,  this  man  now  opened  his  door 
for  Ruth  and  stood  aside  for  her  to  enter.  When 
they  had  seated  themselves,  he  gave  his  attention 
to  Gannett,  following  with  genial  interest  and 
encouraging  loquacity  the  various  pinchbeck  in- 
cidents. 

Paul  had  never  imagined  the  fighting  prophet 
in  homely  guise;  the  cool  reaction  cleared  the 
mist  through  which  he  had  been  groping.  He 
studied  the  bent,  glistening  face,  carved  in  high 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  51 

relief;  he  considered  the  widely  spaced  brown 
eyes,  smouldering  in  dreams ;  he  watched  the  thin 
mouth,  slightly  smiling,  very  gentle  but  founded 
in  his  less  mobile  lines  without  bitterness  or  pain. 
He  glanced  at  the  long,  emphatic  hand  which 
penned  the  phrases  that  burned  like  an  acid  and 
goaded  like  a  hymn ;  here  was  the  man  who  knew 
how  to  right  the  wrongs  of  half  the  race ;  he  who 
had  given  purpose  to  the  pith  of  Paul's  own  life. 
He  could  not  think  of  a  descriptive  term.  Paul 
knew  only  that  he  wished  to  talk  to  him,  to  release 
the  torrent  of  aspirations  churning  through  his 
imagination. 

Just  then  a  shrill  whistle  was  heard  from  the 
street.  Both  Gannett  and  Ruth  jumped  to  their 
feet. 

"It's  Joe  Bush,"  cried  Ruth,  lookmg  out  the 
window. 

*'I  know  what  he  wants.  It's  that  mix-up  on 
the  scrub,  Ruth.  Want  to  come  out  and  see  him 
a  minute*?" 

''Yes,  indeed.  Excuse  us,  papa.  We'll  be 
right  back." 

As  they  closed  the  study  door,  Paul's  hands 
tightened  whitely  upon  his  knees. 

"I  just  want  to  tell  yon,  sir,  that  I  came  to 

Bo^vman  on  account  of — your  article "     He 

could  not  go  on. 

"An  article  of  mine  attracted  you?  I  am  glad 
if  I  can  state  Truth  so  fairly  that  a  man  comes 
here  to  help  us.  I  look  to  the  West  for  men  un- 
stained by  tradition.     Which  article  is  it?" 

"This  one,"  Paul  took  it  from  his  pocket.  "The 
one  named  'Woman:  Enthroned,  Enslaved'." 

"Ah,  that  sprang  from  me  when  I  was  harried 
by  traitors  in  my  own  camp!" 

"Sir!" 

"I  mean  I  was  dealing  with  the  universal  forces 
that  threatened  to  press  in  upon  one  helpless 


52  MUD  HOLLOW 

girl.  I  touched  Truth  there.  Why  did  you  like  it? 
What  do  you  want  to  do  f ' ' 

"I  want  first  to  make  folks  appreciate  my 
mother  and  they've  got  to  before  i'm  through 
with  them.  She  is  far  nobler  than  the  men  they 
praise.    I  '11  show  'em  that ! ' ' 

' '  How,  boy  ? "  The  Professor  just  breathed  the 
question. 

''I'll  find  a  way.  I'll  study  till  I  get  down  to 
bed-rock — to  bottom  bed-rock ! ' ' 

''Then  what  would  you  do?" 

Paul  was  silent,  flushing  deeply  with  the  pain 
of  incomplete  expression. 

"Pardon  me,"  the  Professor  said,  "it  is  a  fault 
of  mine  to  encroach  on  matters  people  do  not 
wish  to  touch." 

"No,  no,"  Paul  cried.  "I  can't  explain  what 
I  feel.  You  said  in  this  paper  that  Woman,  the 
Queen,  is  eternally  branded  into  slavery,  and  her 
bruises  never  heal.  Well,  it's  true!  Mother  is 
all  scarred  up.  It's  work,  work,  work,  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  a  man's  work  and  a  woman's  work 
on  top  of  that.  For  all  this  she  gets  no  praise 
other  than  that  due  a  hired  girl.  A  woman  is 
estimated  not  in  terms  of  soul,  but  for  the  menial 
acts  of  the  kitchen  and  farm.  When  you  think 
how  it's  happening  every  day  to  thousands  of 
women  in  this  country — where  everybody  pre- 
tends to  respect  women — ^how  must  they  feel  in 
those  foreign  lands  where  they  don't  pretend  to 
do  anything  but  sell  them  like  cattle?  It  makes 
your  blood  boil." 

He  struck  the  arm  of  the  chair  heavily  with  his 
fist,  but  then,  becoming  self-conscious,  he  shrank 
back  and  his  groat  beauty,  energizing  and  direct- 
ing the  potencies  of  his  bodv,  vanished;  to  his 
observer's  ceaseless  scrutiny  he  seemed  instantly 
to  become  a  vacant  structure.  It  was  as  if  a 
splendid  statue,  endued  with  many  qualities,  sud- 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  53 

denly  losing  them  all,  should  pass  back  into  the 
eclipse  of  unmodelled  clay.  The  older  man  waited 
while  the  other  slowly  recovered  from  the  shame 
of  a  lost  control  before  he  said: 

"Go  on.    I  am  deeply  interested." 

Paul  looked  sharply  at  him.  Were  not  the 
sympathetic  tone,  the  perfect  manner,  too  pretty 
to  be  honest?  But  in  the  open  simplicity,  the 
vibrant  friendliness  of  the  other's  gaze,  he  felt 
himself  give  way.  How  could  he  have  been  so 
ungenerous  as  to  suspect  the  motives  of  this  open 
man,  to  whom  he  had  already  bound  himself  by 
ties  of  aspiration!  He  longed  for  the  power  to 
uncover  every  dear  hope  in  the  sight  of  him  who 
had  voiced  his  gravest  trouble. 

**  After  father  came  home  from  the  war,  mother 
tended  his  wounds.  When  he  grew  worse,  mother 
took  the  whole  load.  I  can  remember  how  she 
used  to  ask  the  men  who  came  to  visit  father  for 
advice.  My!  They'd  sit  around  father's  lounge, 
eating  apples  and  popcorn,  stretching  out  their 
legs,  resting  good,  while  mother  was  sewing  or 
cooking,  with  half  a  day's  work  ahead.  The  talk 
was  always  about  the  war  and  the  things  father 
did  in  it.    Never  of  mother  or  her  deeds." 

"I  judge  he  had  especially  distinguished  him- 
self." 

''That's  right.  He  got  praise  for  it,  too,  down 
at  the  store,  at  church,  in  the  county  paper.  That 
was  the  reward  for  four  years'  fighting — but 
mother's  twenty  years'  fight  gets  no  praise  except 
in  terms  of  doughnuts  and  griddle  cakes.  Oh,  it 
makes  me  tired!" 

"You  must  have  been  as  proud  of  him  as  your 
mother  was,  as  glad  to  see  him  happy." 

Paul  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  was  proud,"  he 
said  slowly,  "we  all  were.  He's  all  right;  he 
thought  there  was  nobody  like  mother.  He'd 
watch  her  by  the  hour  and  they'd  laugh  and  talk 


54  MUD  HOLLOW 

as  though  they  were  two  kids.  She  was  as  much 
his  hero  as  he  was  hers.  But  the  rest  put  him 
on  a  pedestal,  with  no  place  for  her  above  the 
level  of  a  washwoman.  To  them,  it  is  all  men, 
men,  men !  He  did  this,  he  did  that !  Yet  we  were 
made  not  by  the  deeds  of  which  men  brag,  but 
by  the  silent  efforts  of  women.  When  I  think  of 
my  mother,  I  know  there  must  have  been  a  multi- 
tude of  others  who  did  her  deeds,  felt  her  sorrows 
and  then  sank  into  unmarked  graves.  Yes,  heroes 
do  not  drop  out  of  the  sky.  Neither  do  mothers. 
Why  not  give  them  the  credit  of  making  the  race, 
instead  of  lauding  the  deeds  of  men  who  only 
reflect  the  virtues  women  have  acquired  through 
ages  of  suffering!  But  not  so  in  Indiana.  Women 
are  good  enough  to  make  pies,  to  sew  buttons, 
to  churn  and  sweep,  but  due  recognition  for  their 
merit  they  never  receive.  Oh,  the  presumption  of 
men !    I  would  like  to  kick  'em  downstairs. ' ' 

This  was  quite  an  oration  for  Paul;  when  fin- 
ished he  fell  back  into  one  of  his  moods,  sitting 
with  gripped  hands,  fixed  jaws.  The  Professor 
was  moved  but  waited  in  silence  for  some  new 
outburst  which  he  felt  sure  would  come.  Life 
came  back  as  quickly  as  it  had  gone.  Suddenly 
Paul  sprang  to  his  feet  and  cried: 

''When  the  minister  called,  he  said,  'You're 
the  son  of  a  soldier,  an  honor  to  the  country.' 
Why  didn't  he  say  I  was  the  son  of  a  woman  do- 
ing nobler  deeds  every  day?  Why  should  soldiers 
who  kill  men  be  praised  higher  than  those  who 
make  them !  To  be  good  to  her  because  she 's  his 
wife — is  that  all  the  honor  she's  to  get?  Where's 
her  pension,  her  glory  for  grinding  herself  to  the 
bone  for  us,  and  not  a  word  of  complaint  out  of 
her,  year  in,  year  out?  He  was  glorified  for  one 
gunshot  wound,  while  she  gets  no  praise  for  a 
thousand  pains  that  cut  deeper  than  bullets.  What 
is  it  that  keeps  us  from  being  fair  to  a  woman, 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  55 

and  giving  her  the  kind  of  appreciation  her  deeds 
deserve?  Everybody  thinl?:s  well  of  the  useful 
woman  but  all  they  ever  say  is,  'She  is  a  good 
cook;  her  house  is  in  order';  that  isn't  good 
enough  for  my  mother.  And  if  it  isn't  good 
enough  for  her,  it  isn't  good  enough  for  other 
women  either." 

He  paused  in  his  restless  walk,  a  challenge  in 
his  observation. 

"You  are  right,"  the  Professor  said,  "it  is 
enough  for  no  woman." 

He  crossed  the  room  to  a  large  portrait  upon 
the  wall  opposite  his  desk. 

"Your  inspiration  flows  from  a  great  and  mis- 
prized nature — from  a  woman's  protean  powers 
flowing  in  many  channels,  yet  choked  and  dammed 
in  every  one.  Mine  came  from  a  nature  that 
poured  its  rare  inspirational  quality  freely  into 
every  deed." 

He  looked  at  the  painting  so  long  that  Paul 
was  miserably  uncertain  as  what  he  ought  to  do. 
At  last  the  other  said: 

"Come  here,  Mr.  Brown,  I  want  you  to  know 
Mrs.  Stuart." 

Paul  studied  the  canvas  with  a  growing  con- 
sternation and  amazement.  That  ' '  fancy  picture ' ' 
of  Mrs.  Stuart — the  woman  whose  name  was  on 
the  dedication  leaves  of  the  Professor's  books! 
That  smiling,  glowing  woman  whose  arms  and 
shoulders  gleamed  boldly  from  the  black  velvety 
shadows,  whose  hair  was  curled  and  fluffed,  whose 
white  and  slender  hands  were  jewelled!  She 
seemed  to  lean  from  the  picture,  accepting  the 
admiration  of  any  man  for  her  skin-deep  pretti- 
ncss. 

Paul  felt  a  shock  he  knew  not  why,  a  recoil  as 
though  some  bewitching  vampire  had  tried  to  kiss 
him.  The  picture  had  not  the  sad  smile  hard  toil 
brings  to  the  overworked  millions  who  get  their 


56  MUD  HOLLOW 

pay  in  coin  which  rings  false.  Can  a  woman  of 
thirty  have  soft  hands,  a  slender  figure,  a  girl's 
face 'and  still  be  an  inspiration?  Had  Paul  met 
Mrs.  Stuart  on  the  street  he  would  have  thought 
her  overwrought,  a  drag  not  a  help  in  the  crusade 
which  stirred  his  soul.  But  to  find  her  on  the 
wall  of  the  man  to  whom  he  looked  for  guidance, 
to  see  his  smile,  the  glow  of  his  enthusiasm  as  he 
praised  this  seemingly  useless  creature — well, 
Paul  was  too  slow  of  thought  to  solve  the  riddle. 
He  hesitated,  stammered  and  finally  ejaculated: 

''Did  she  always  look  that  way?" 

The  Professor  was  too  absorbed  in  his  own 
thought  to  understand  Paul's  question  or  his 
mood.     He  gave  a  look  of  admiration  and  said: 

"No,  she  is  in  what  we  might  call  a  fancy  cos- 
tume. You  may  not  be  familiar  with  this  school 
of  portraiture,  although  it  is  often  reproduced  in 
books  and  magazines.  My  wife  wished  it  in  the 
manner  of  the  older  family  paintings  in  southern 
homes,  those  after  Eeynolds  and  Gainsborough, 
which  were  much  valued  by  her  Virginia  relatives. 
She  and  the  artist  in  New' York  chose  the  brocade 
gown  there,  and  I  selected  the  black  hat  with 
its  long  plume.  She  always  regretted  that  she 
could  not  wear  the  costume  in  Bowman  for  she 
thought  it  peculiarly  enhanced  her  type." 

Paul  listened  with  a  patient  astonishment. 

*'She  dressed  up  on  purpose  to  have  her  picture 
taken!"  he  burst  forth.  ''Why,  I  thought — I 
think — she's  so  different  from  my  mother— I 
didn't  know — I  didn't  suppose — that  was  the  kind 
you're  working  for!" 

The  Professor's  face  sharpened  for  an  instant, 
his  fingers  tapped  the  mantel's  edge;  then  the 
cast  softened  to  a  tender  wisdom,  a  patience  that 
was  infinitely  sad. 

"Yes,  she  dressed  for  this,"  he  said  slowly  and 
simply,  holding  Paul's  troubled  glance. 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  57 

"She  knew  I  wanted  her  at  the  moment  of  her 
most  expressive,  most  intensive  beauty.  The 
artist  knew  I  wished  him  to  limn  an  ideal  of 
womanhood  as  well  as  a  scrupulous  portrait.  He 
has  achieved  both — for  me. ' ' 

Absorbed  in  his  over-enthusiasm  he  did  not 
realize  the  mental  conflict  of  his  hearer,  but  broke 
forth  in  eulogy  that  expressed  his  inner  feeling. 

"She  is  the  woman  of  my  pami)hlets,  my 
lectures,  my  confidant.  Only  after  I  knew 
her  did  my  philosophy  gather  the  attribute  of 
impregnable  purity.  She  was  a  perfectly  fearless 
woman,  a  perfectly  free  one,  able  to  distinguish 
woman's  loftiest  conscious  needs  from  her  atro- 
phied functions.  She  could  state  them  for  me  in 
their  ultimate  terms,  for  she  had  never  known  the 
miseries  of  slain  desires  and  exhausting  toil.  She 
knew  no  restraint;  her  own  soul  set  the  bounds 
of  life;  she  stood  upon  the  mountain  tops;  I 
mapped  and  plodded.  From  her  unfettered 
growth,  I  drew  that  plan  of  specific  rescue  which 
I  have  set  forth  elsewhere.  A  woman  with  the 
equipment  of  perfection :  perfected  love,  which  is 
purity ;  perfected  reason,  which  is  intuition ;  per- 
fected maternity,  which  is  tenderness;  perfected 
conscience,  which  is  holiness.  All  these  women 
harbor  now,  the  primary  gifts  of  God,  yet  over- 
laid, checked,  controlled,  nullified,  and  thwarted 
of  expression  by  inhuman  cruelties. 

"Ah,  well,  at  least  we  read  together  the  Pro- 
logue of  the  new  Book  of  Life,  before  we  played 
the  Epilogue  of  World  Tragedy — ^we  could  not 
evade  that.  The  curse  of  Eve  was  on  her.  We 
were  in  the  grasp  of  vengeance,  the  victims  of 
earth's  chaotic  maelstrom.  Ida  and  I  lived  too 
soon  to  escape  the  disasters  evoked  by  the  brutal 
order  against  which  we  strove.  She  paid  life,  I — 
happiness;  all  I  saved  was  our  daughter.  She 
is  as  God  would  have  her.    She  is  safe.    She  is 


58  MUD  HOLLOW 

free,  she  is  the  holy  one  to  be ;  in  her  hands  is  all 
that  God  ordained." 

The  lurking  smoulder  of  his  eyes  was  a  bright 
light  when  he  laid  his  hand  on  Paul's  shoulder, 
saying  in  a  different  tone : 

"It  has  been  a  jDleasure  and  a  relief  to  talk 
to  you  as  one  talks  to  a  newcomer  in  whom  he 
hopes  to  find  a  colleague.  You  must  come  here 
often;  you  shall  be  always  welcome,  and  my 
daughter  regards  you  as  her  especial  treasure 
trove.  Where  is  she?  They  have  been  absent 
some  time.    Shall  we  join  them  in  the  open  air?" 

Paul  moved  reluctantly.  He  did  not  under- 
stand nor  could  he  frame  questions  which  should 
probe  further  than  the  light  touch  of  the  Pro- 
fessor had  gone.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  had  the  desire  to  submit  to  a  personality.  He 
had  given  himself  freely  to  dogmas  and  to  ideas, 
but  he  had  never  felt  warm  impulses  of  soul 
magnetism.  He  had  not  done  what  he  intended 
to  do,  but,  as  he  slowly  followed  the  Professor, 
he  felt  himself  sinking  into  peace  with  a  widen- 
ing horizon. 

We  know  not  what  might  have  happened  at  this 
juncture  if  the  two  men  had  been  left  to  think  out 
an  understanding.  Perhaps  a  different  fate  would 
have  been  Paul's;  a  simpler,  plainer  road  to  his 
goal  might  have  opened  up.  For  the  first  time 
he  felt  a  questioning  of  his  ultimates,  a  flash  of 
a  new  world. 

Years  were  to  pass  before  Paul  through  his  own 
development  faced  the  same  problems  again.  For 
good  or  ill  effect  was  momentary.  The  door  sud- 
denly opened;  in  rushed  Ruth  with  the  glow  of 
another  world. 

"We  are  already  late,"  she  cried.  "You  prom- 
ised to  talk  to  the  boys  on  the  athletic  field.  You 
are  not  going  to  cut  that,  are  you  1 ' ' 

"So  I  did,  so  I  did,"  said  the  Professor.    He 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  59 

turned  with  a  pained  look  whicli  might  have  been 
due  to  having  forgotten  his  engagement  or  to  los- 
ing a  chance  for  more  talk.  He  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment and  then  said,  ''Come  on,  Paul,  you  must 
see  the  athletic  field." 

Taking  Paul  by  the  arm  he  led  the  way  out  the 
gate,  down  the  road  to  the  entrance  of  the  field. 
His  appearance  started  vociferous  cheers.  It 
thrilled  Paul,  but  his  face  flushed  to  be  put  un- 
expectedly in  so  prominent  a  place.  It  was  the 
first  college  yelling  he  had  heard,  and  who  can 
resist  its  appeal?  He  seated  himself  on  the  front 
row  of  the  grandstand,  with  the  girl  and  Fred. 
The  Professor  stood  before  the  mass  of  cheering 
boys.    When  they  were  silent  he  begart 

"Boys,  this  is  a  world  of  dust,  common  dust 
From  dust  we  came,  on  dust  we  live  and  to  dust 
we  return.  It  is  easy  to  turn  one  form  of  dust 
into  another.  God  did  the  trick  in  six  days.  Na- 
ture has  a  more  difficult  task,  a  task  not  of  six 
days  but  of  millions  of  years.  Dust  ceasing  to  be 
dust  must  become  soul.  From  dust  to  life,  from 
life  to  muscle,  from  muscle  to  soul  and  from  soul 
to  God.  The  upward  track  along  which  all  must 
pass.  You  can't  manufacture  soul  by  any  patent 
process.  Change  and  growth  rest  on  the  dusty 
dust  in  which  our  feet  must  always  be.  You  can't 
have  muscle  without  dust  nor  soul  without  muscle. 
It  is  more  important  to  keep  your  feet  on  the 
earth,  to  mix  with  its  dust,  than  to  dream  dreams 
of  unreachable  glory.  About  the  clouds  is  a  bar- 
ren waste;  below  is  world  fertility.  Stoop  and 
enjoy  it.  Don't  float  away  and  freeze.  The  stars 
are  reached  by  a  ladder  which  Jacob  saw  but 
could  not  climb.  The  way  from  dust  to  God  is 
up  that  ladder.  Every  step  demands  muscle.  We 
get  no  nearer  to  Heaven  than  our  muscles  will 
take  us.  It's  muscle,  all  muscle,  nothing  else 
counts.     That's  why  we  are  here  and  not  over 


60  MUD  HOLLOW 

on  the  campus  fanning  ourselves  beneath  the 
chestnut  trees.  We  are  on  the  right  track.  The 
track  from  dust  to  God.  We  begin  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ladder  and  work  up — not  at  the  top  and  fall 
back.  Men  are  always  mounting;  saints  are  al- 
ways falling.  Their  pasted  wings  drop  off  in  the 
heat  of  the  sun.  Not  so  with  us.  We  accept 
Nature's  verdict  that  the  road  upward  is  from 
dust  to  muscle.  We  bite  the  dust,  we  eat  the  dust, 
we  roll  in  dust.  We  are  dust  without,  dust 
within ;  all,  not  to  be  dust,  but  to  be  dustless !  Wle 
want  to  get  away  from  it  but  we  must  carry  lots 
of  it  along  in  muscles  which  are  being  trans- 
formed into  soul  and  in  souls  which  are  becoming 
God. 

'*Be  proud  of  dust  divinity  but  climb  above  it, 
up  until  the  stars  fade  and  the  milky  way  is  lost 
in  the  depth  below.  The  ladder  rests  on  this 
athletic  field.  Men  used  to  think  that  it  started 
from  the  theological  seminary  or  from  the  col- 
lege campus,  but  it  does  not.  They  are  mere 
way  stations,  dessert,  not  beefsteak.  Muscles 
before  college,  muscles  before  theology.  It  is 
the  long  road,  the  low  road,  the  dusty  road  which 
leads  upward.  On  it  dust  ceasing  to  be  dust  be- 
comes soul  and  God.  We  come  here  today  to  get 
our  first  lesson  on  how  to  travel  this  long  dusty 
road;  how  to  mount  the  ladder  which  leads  from 
dirty  dirt,  from  filthy  filth,  to  love,  hope  and 
charity. 

"Who  would  not  prefer  nature's  path;  go 
through  the  turmoil  of  its  slow,  difficult  processes 
instead  of  trying  to  grow  wings  on  his  back. 
That  is  the  difference  between  athletics  and  the- 
ology. The  one  acts  with  nature,  the  other  against 
her.  Come,  boys,  make  the  decision  today.  Will 
you  fly  or  walk  f  Will  you  take  the  low  dusty  road 
or  float  among  the  clouds?  Our  ladder  starts 
lower,  you  move  up  it  more  slowly,  but  it  reaches 


A  SEXLESS  SOUL  61 

far  higher.  Muscles,  not  clouds,  reach  to  the  door 
of  Heaven.  Now  is  the  time  to  make  the  decision 
and  here  is  the  place.  I  want  to  shake  hands  with 
those  who  will  go  with  me  up  the  slow  road  that 
leads  from  dust  to  soul.  We  shall  always  have 
our  feet  on  solid  earth  but  our  eyes  will  see  the 
above.  As  we  mount,  each  step  will  be  harder. 
We  will  need  more  muscle  and  have  our  feet  rest 
more  firmly  on  the  dirt.  From  dust  to  soul — 
through  muscle  and  by  muscle.  Come  on,  we  will 
all  go  together,  singing  the  college  songs  as  we 
go." 

The  answer  was  a  cry  of  joy.  A  hundred  boys 
rushed  forward  to  seize  the  Professor's  hand. 
Paul  was  quicker  and  nearer.  He  got  the  hand 
first.  His  heart  thrilled  with  a  new  impulse  as 
he  sprang  forward.  He  had  always  thought  of  his 
muscles  as  load,  as  mere  flesh  which  made  for 
temptation.  Now  it  was  to  be  muscle  first.  His 
arms  and  legs  were  not  the  useless  appendages 
he  thought  them  to  be. 

That  night  at  the  window  of  his  dormitory  he 
pondered  it  all  over.  He  had  never  before  heard 
of  evolution.  He  had  studied  books  which  told 
of  things  but  not  of  how  souls  were  made.  Souls 
are  transformed  muscles.  Souls  are  dustless  dust. 
He  would  be  dust  that  he  might  be  soul.  The 
new  road  seemed  so  attractive  that  he  wanted  to 
try  it  that  night.  He  could  see  the  ladder  going 
up,  up;  at  the  top  stood  mother.  She  held 
not  a  book  but  a  handful  of  dust.  Yes,  his  mother 
had  taken  the  dusty  road  and  he  must  follow. 

He  gathered  his  poems,  his  mother  eulogies. 
AVrapping  them  carefully  he  placed  them  at  the 
bottom  of  his  trunk.  Tlien  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
the  innocent  he  saw  a  ladder  reaching  so  high  that 
the  earth  faded  in  dim  distance. 


62  MUD  HOLLOW 

VIII 

Senior  Honors 

Three  years  had  passed  ahnost  to  a  day  when 
Paul  again  leaped  from  the  train,  trod  familiar 
streets  and  mounted  the  steps  of  College  Hall. 
He  heard  the  two  o'clock  bell  and  knew  it  called 
every  one  from  lunch  to  the  class  room.  Four 
o'clock  meant  athletics;  then  would  the  mind- 
weary  horde  desert  the  classic  halls  for  boyish 
sport. 

Paul  cast  an  eye  up  and  down  the  campus,  then 
viewed  the  rocky  crest  beyond.  All  seemed  dif- 
ferent than  it  did  when  he  first  saw  them. 
The  hills  had  no  terror  for  he  knew  them  as 
friends.  Paul  had  an  air  of  mastery  which  made 
him  different  from  the  timid  boy  with  crude  edges 
to  be  worn  off.  His  hair,  his  face,  even  his  body 
seemed  altered  and  yet  beneath  it  all  was  his  old 
modesty.  He  had  grown  accustomed  to  have 
others  wait  for  his  decision.  His  eyes  still  had 
that  delicate  shade  of  blue  which  flashed  so  su- 
per])ly  when  some  bold  decision  shone  through 
them.  His  face  seemed  smoother  and  his  big 
hands  and  feet  less  prominent.  It  was  easy  to 
see  why  he  had  become  a  dominant  figure  at  Bow- 
man. Yet  kindly  as  he  smiled  at  the  familiar 
scenes  there  was  a  sadness  in  his  heart.  Amy 
Brown  was  dead.  Her  illness  had  kept  him  at 
home.  Rumor  had  said  that  he  must  manage  his 
mother's  estate,  but  rumor  as  usual  had  made 
things  worse  than  they  were. 

Now  Paul  was  again  at  Bowman  more  deter- 
mined than  ever  to  be  worthy  of  his  cherished 
title.  Defender  of  Woman.  The  spirit  of  the  pre- 
ceding year  re^dved  him  as  its  trains  of  thought 
came  back  with  their  old  vividness.     Once  more 


SENIOR  HONORS  63 

he  was  the  athlete  with  red  blood  of  conquest 
pulsing  in  his  veins.  His  vision  flew  from  his 
well-cut  suit  of  clothes  to  the  old  garments  hang- 
ing in  his  room.  He  found  all  as  he  had  left  it. 
When  he  opened  the  door  his  student  lamp  was  on 
the  bare  pine  table ;  on  the  walls  were  still  pinned 
the  photographs  of  those  collegians  who  had  been 
adjudged  worthy  of  places  on  the  athletic  pages 
of  popular  weeklies.  Dust  had  settled  every- 
where, yet  the  place  seemed  home  as  he  threw 
wide  the  blinds  and  laid  his  suit  case  on  the  folded 
mattress.  The  busy  officials  had  left  his  room 
undisturbed  although  they  had  not  expected  him 
so  soon.  This  evidence  of  demonstrated  sympa- 
thy brought  the  burning  blur  which  followed 
every  kindness  since  his  mother  died.  But  he 
dreaded  the  rush  of  unhalted  grief  that  now  and 
then,  overbearing  his  physical  strength,  left  him 
wrenched  and  sobbing;  his  own  first  Ideal  was 
born  from  the  decay  of  Death.  He  had  gone  as 
had  the  Professor,  among  dead  women  to  grasp 
their  mysteries  and  hear  their  message. 

*  *  I  '11  make  it  all  up  yet, ' '  he  cried  within.  *  <  I  '11 
do  for  every  woman  in  the  world  all  that  I  planned 
for  her. 

He  plunged  again  into  the  current  of  a  rushing, 
radiant  purpose.  So  human  and  so  near  was  she 
that  he  longed  to  talk  of  her  to  Professor  Stuart. 
The  campus,  too,  called  him  strongly ;  he  no  long- 
er desired  to  hide  himself  like  a  mortally  wounded 
man ;  but  thought  hungrily  of  his  classmates  and 
wished  for  their  arms  about  his  shoulders,  their 
yelling  welcome,  their  silent  love.  He  swung 
through  his  window  down  upon  the  ground  with  a 
greater  satisfaction  than  he  had  expected  ever  to 
feel  again. 

His  stride  was  known  to  Bowman  as  ''the  Paul 
gait,"  travestied  by  spindling  Freshmen,  imitated 


€4  MUD  HOLLOW 

intelligently  by  the  cross-country  runners  and  by 
the  fighting  men  under  his  personal  captaincy. 

' '  College  has  been  open  a  week. ' '  Paul  thought. 
''That's  too  bad.  We'll  have  to  take  hold  right 
now  if  we  whip  Penn  this  fall. ' ' 

The  Pennsylvania  eleven  had  defeated  Bowman 
the  autumn  previous  by  a  narrow  score.  ''Brown's 
remarkable  offensive  tactics  in  the  second  half 
made  the  final  score  doubtful  until  the  watches 
snapped  time.  Brown  is  an  athlete  on  whom  the 
prophets  must  keep  an  eye  next  fall.  Two  records 
broken  on  Berkeley  Oval  make  him  a  force  in  the 
athletic  world  whom  the  critics  must  take  into 
consideration.  Saturday's  game  has  brought  a 
new  college  upon  the  horizon.  The  man  who  car- 
ried the  ball  through  Pennsylvania's  defence 
twice  in  ten  minutes  and  at  the  same  time 
moved  his  own  line  with  the  precision  of  a  stop- 
watch will  have  some  surprises  in  store  for  the 
critics  of  next  year's  games." 

The  page  which  contained  this  appreciation  of 
the  hero,  surmounted  by  his  photograph,  was 
tacked  on  many  a  dormitory  wall;  the  vital  func- 
tions of  Bowman  were  interrupted  by  his  absence ; 
the  stream  was  choked,  it  backed  and  filled  with- 
out him.  A  member  of  the  faculty  committee  on 
ahletics  despatched  an  official  inquiry  into  his 
probable  action.  The  letter  came  to  Paul's  hand 
on  a  day  when  his  captaincy  lay  unconsidered; 
the  campaign  so  zestfully  planned  in  the  starry 
spring  nights  was  a  silly  play  when  Paul  stood 
beside  the  pebbly  mound  above  his  mother's 
coffin. 

"I'll  go  over  there  the  first  thing  after  supper," 
he  resolved,  pausing  to  cool  at  the  bottom  of  the 
high  steps.  He  turned  his  face  to  a  breeze  which, 
wavering  out  of  the  great  distances  of  field  and 
sky  behind  him,  stroked  the  wet  flesh  beneath  the 
loose  outing  shirt.    His  soft  collar,  fastened  with 


SENIOR  HONORS  65 

a  black  necktie,  fell  back  from  the  base  of  his  big 
pulsing  throat;  he  loosened  it  a  little  more,  with 
his  habitual  gesture  of  easing  hot  blood.  The 
September  shimmer  beat  on  his  uncovered  head, 
but  he  ran  his  fingers  through  his  moist,  crinkling 
hair  and  lifted  it  to  the  last  touch  of  the  breeze. 
Thrusting  his  thumbs  into  liis  white  belt,  he  looked 
into  the  miles  of  palpitating  sunshine.  The  Ridge 
alone  was  cold  and  stolid;  all  the  world  beside 
trembling  with  intensity.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
*'Four  o'clock.  Last  recitation.  I'll  wait  here 
and  catch  the  fellows  when  they  come  out. ' ' 

The  silent  building  stirred;  doors  opened,  feet 
shuffled  dully  and  distantly;  classes  poured  into 
the  corridor  and  converged  upon  the  stairs.  They 
tramped  down  and  scattered ;  some  went  through 
the  big  door  that  opened  upon  the  tidy  little  town, 
but  most  made  for  the  narrow  way  that  led  down 
hacked,  narrow  steps  upon  the  lazy  shade,  the 
baking  tennis  court,  the  blazing  diamond  and  the 
neglected,  effluent  grass.  The  advance  was 
swift;  when  it  saw  Paul  at  the  bottom  of  the 
steps  it  recoiled  upon  the  men  behind.  In  the 
interval  of  silence  and  pushing,  Paul  drew  his 
handkerchief  across  his  forehead  nervously. 

Then  he  called  out,  "Hello,  boys!  That  you, 
Trautman?  Glad  to  see  you.  How  goes  it,  Pratt?" 
He  wished  the  moment  ended,  and  to  hasten  it 
ran  half-way  up  the  steps.  But  they  sprang  down 
upon  him  and  pressed  him  backward,  striking  him 
upon  his  shoulders,  cuffing  him,  reaching  for  his 
hands,  crowding  round  him. 

''Well,  I  say!"  yelled  Trautman,  hitting  him 
upon  his  chest,  "well,  well!  This  is  something 
like ! ' '  The  doorways  packed  with  men,  who  bore 
down  upon  the  first  and  crowded  them  into  the 
open  field.  Suddenly  Trautman  whirled  and  lifted 
both  arms  in  the  gesture  of  a  conductor  with  his 
baton.     He  jerked  his  elbows  violently  upward, 


66  MUD  HOLLOW 

and  threw  his  hands  wide  open.  ''Ready,"  he 
hissed,  "Bowman!  One,  two,  three!"  A  roar 
hurst  from  every  man:  ''Eah,  rah,  rah.  Bow- 
man!" 

''Brown!"  he  yelled  again  and  jerked  his  arms 
higher.  "Ready.  Rah,  rah,  rah.  Brown."  They 
roared.  Again,  "Rah,  rah,  rah.  Brown!"  They 
halted  and  turned  their  faces  to  the  sky,  lifting 
their  chests  mightily.  "Rah,  rah,  rah,  Brown  I 
Brown!!  Brown!!!"  The  volume  swelled,  rose, 
burst  open  the  campus  with  such  fresh  fire  that  it 
sprang  to  life  at  every  pore.  Figures  came  run- 
ning; three  rose  from  the  somnolent-scented 
shadows  of  a  distant  haystack  and  trotted  in. 
The  dormitory  windows  teemed.  Sleepy  faces 
peered  forth,  coatless  bodies  leaned  far  out,  un- 
collared,  unshirted  men  rose  to  view.  They  waved 
and  called  unintelligibly  and  if  they  were  too  high 
aloft  to  jump  they  disappeared  briefly  to  come 
hurrying  through  the  accustomed  exits.  Others 
hung  a  leg  outward  on  the  casement  and  a  few 
paused  listening,  shading  their  eyes  from  the 
slanting  sun-glare  to  be  sure  of  that  towering 
central  figure ;  then  hustled,  hurtled  by  the  mass 
that  caught  up  every  man  of  Bowman.  Not  for 
mere  ebullience  of  spirits  would  they  sally  forth! 
So  they  paused  before  they,  too,  were  swallowed. 
Freshmen  came,  were  crowded  silently,  sheep- 
ishly, and  displaced  easily. 

"Brown's  back,"  the  others  surmised  and 
swung  themselves  instantly  from  the  windows  to 
the  ground.  They  made  way  through  the  crowd 
to  Paul  and  strove  for  his  recognition.  Pushed 
and  pummelled,  he  swayed  with  them,  grasping 
hands  outthrust,  nodding,  smiling,  answering,  his 
blue  eyes  flashing  on  his  classmates  as  they 
swarmed,  gathered  in  about  him. 

A  great  fellow  threw  himself  on  Paul.  "Why 
didn't  you  telegraph?"  he  said.    "I'd  have  had 


SENIOR  HONORS  67 

the  team  out.  We'll  beat  'em  now.  We'll  whip 
the  Big  Four.  I  tell  you,  fellows, ' '  he  cried,  turn- 
ing on  the  crowd.  "I  tell  you  we'll  upset  the 
records  this  year.    We  '11  have  them  down. ' ' 

^'Gannett!"  they  answered.  ''Good  one,  Gan- 
nett, good  hoy!  Bring  on  your  team.  Here's 
your  captain!    Team,  this  way!" 

The  team  gathered  itself,  one  by  one,  and  came 
to  Paul  down  ready  lanes.  Two  lifted  Paul  upon 
their  shoulders;  the  team  winged  out  on  either 
side  and  the  coil  unwound  into  procession.  Now 
at  its  head,  and  now  afield,  the  megaphones  com- 
manded and  decried.  The  motes  of  the  sunshine 
danced  in  the  blare  with  the  stamping  feet  of  the 
proud  young  men  who  swning  and  sang.  Paul 
rode  at  their  head — to  the  right,  to  the  left,  the 
brawny  beef-eating  fighters — the  line  serpentining 
in  their  tracks.  Gannett  led  it,  walldng  backward, 
waving  his  hat,  posturing  like  a  dancer  as  he  out- 
lined the  serpent's  writhing,  and  uttering  at  reg- 
ular intervals  the  college  yell.  The  honor  men 
stepped  breezil}^  on  their  path,  chanting  the  foot- 
ball song,  and  joining  each  one  in  the  cry  of  his 
class  or  fraternity  as  it  rose  from  the  ranks 
behind  him.  Gannett  brought  them  at  length  to 
the  athletic  field  and  halted  beneath  two  trees. 
Between  them  was  arched  a  mre  upon  which 
were  words  made  of  faded  hemlock  twigs,  now 
browned  and  falling  to  the  ground.  Here  the 
tumult  waged  again;  Paul  was  lifted  by  a  dozen 
hands  from  the  shoulders  where  he  sat,  and  hoist- 
ed upon  others  which  bore  him  under  the  arch. 

Gannett,  beside  him,  made  the  sign  for  silence, 
but  was  drowned  in  noise.  Thereupon  the  mega- 
phones came  running  and  consulted  with  him. 
They  turned  their  gaping  throats  and  poured 
forth  hollow,  weird  and  cave-like  sounds.  "Sil- 
ence!" "Silence!"  "Every  fellow  read  those 
words!"  "Remember!"  "Last  spring  we  won — '* 


68  MUD  HOLLOW 

' '  A  gold  medal— "  ' '  A  belt. "  ' '  Who  put  up  this 
arch — "  "Bowman,"  yelled  the  crowd.  "Who 
forT'  "Brown,"  they  answered.  "Read  it," 
said  the  megaphones.  "Wait — ready,  one,  two, 
three ! ' '  Mouths  opened,  teeth  gleamed  from  hot 
and  happy  faces:  "We  did  them.  Brown!" 
Three  times  they  yelled  it,  tossed  hats  and  hugged 
each  other  so  fiercely  that  they  did  not  see  a  girl 
come  to  the  arch  and  wave  the  football  men  lightly 
back.  They  drew  their  bulk  aside  as  her  finger 
just  touched  their  arms  and  pressed  against  each 
other  to  give  her  access  to  the  hero.  Those  near- 
est became  silent,  and  seemed  to  listen  through 
the  cheering  deeper  in  the  mass.  They  quickly 
glanced  from  the  eager  face  of  the  girl  to  the 
impassivity  of  Paul.  There  was  an  instant's  curi- 
ous pause  among  his  men,  a  hint  of  consciousness 
that  delicacy  was  needful. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  so  glad,"  she  sighed.  "Your 
last  letter  to  father  was  just  awful.  We  gave  you 
up — almost.  I  heard  the  racket  when  we  came 
in  from  our  walk  just  now  and  I  supposed  it  was 
good  news  about  the  team."  She  laughed  again, 
exultantly.  "But  I  didn't  hope  you  were  really 
here."  She  studied  him  and  saw  that  he  was  a 
bit  hollow-eyed  and  strained.  Her  voice  also  sank 
a  tone.  "Come  over  and  see  father  right  away," 
she  said  softly.  "He's  missed  you.  Come  over 
to  supper  with  Fred.    Will  you?    Will  you?" 

' '  You  bet  he  will, ' '  vociferated  Fred.  "I '11  take 
him  home  to  dress  right  off.  Whoop — Captain! 
Fellows,"  he  shrieked  as  he  seized  a  megaphone 
to  issue  a  command.  "Let's  take  him  to  his  room 
now,  and  everybody  who  feels  good  come  to  the 
chapel  steps  at  dark  for  a  sing.  Get  together, 
Glee  Club !  Bring  out  every  guitar  and  mandolin 
and  banjo.  It's  up  to  every  man  to  back  the 
winner ! ' ' 


THE  BOOK  69 

IX 

The  Booij: 

The  day  after  Christmas,  Professor  Stuart  be- 
gan his  lecture  tour  of  the  larger  towns  of  his 
state.  It  was  his  pilgrimage  of  love  upon  which 
he  set  forth  with  waxing  eagerness;  he  glowed 
more  ardently  each  winter  with  the  belief  that 
he  brought  hope  to  patient  prisoners.  Among  the 
varied  organizations  of  women  who  continued  to 
invite  him,  despite  queries  whether  a  newer  at- 
traction might  not  bring  more  money,  he  was 
known  as  an  orator  who  morticed  their  stones  into 
the  arabesque  cathedral  of  his  own  faith.  He 
used  them  all  in  his  structures — the  Temperance 
Union,  the  educational  convention,  the  Woman's 
Club,  the  dogma  of  the  missionary,  the  logic  of 
the  suffragist — on  all  these  he  built  with  the  hand 
of  an  artist,  and  exhorted  with  the  flash  of  a 
zealot.  His  devotion  thrilled  his  audience;  they 
nodded  daintily  to  him  as  they  clapped  their 
gloved  hands ;  he  thought  they  shook  their  chains ; 
and  he  returned  to  Bowman  elate,  absorbed, 
dreamy  with  the  imminence  of  revolution.  These 
women,  listening,  questioning,  receptive,  seemed 
to  press  to  the  goal  where  men  found  freedom. 
Sitting  again  in  his  home  study,  he  thought  of 
what  he  had  seen  in  the  vast  terms  of  the  cosmic 
process  guided  by  God.  For  weeks  thereafter, 
watching  his  daughter  with  a  certain  reverence, 
he  covered  pages  of  his  notebook  with  her  answers 
to  his  questions.  They  might  truly  be  interpre- 
tations of  his  visions.  The  outward-minded  child 
was  exalted  into  the  vessel  of  the  oracle  and 
the  boyish  girl  into  the  forerunner  of  the  Dawn. 

Two  years  earlier  he  had  said  to  Mrs.  Dickson 
in  the  course  of  their  interminable  warfare  about 


70  MUD  HOLLOW 

his  daughter's  upbringing:  "She  is  an  experi- 
ment— an  experiment  in  the  natural  woman.  I 
am  obliged  to  yield  that  point  to  you,  but  does 
not  my  selection  of  Ida's  daughter  convince  you 
that  I  have  embarked  on  the  safest  waters  ? ' ' 

' '  Time  will  tell.  Time  will  tell, ' '  she  answered, 
adding  darkly,  "you  mark  my  words." 

But  as  time  passed  he  regarded  her  less  as 
an  experiment  in  the  social  crucible — more  as  a 
revelation,  mute  as  yet  but  precious  with  promise. 
It  was  a  trial  of  his  sweet  courtesy  that  the 
women  of  his  own  town  were  that  small  minority 
of  his  wide  acquaintance  which  sought  to  oppose 
his  daughter's  normal  growth.  He  believed  that 
the  hundreds  who  listened  each  year,  having  com- 
prehended his  philosophy,  would  also  understand 
the  specific  instance  of  its  operation  in  a  living 
girl.  A  half-mystical,  sustaining  comradeship 
arose  with  the  absent  women  who  had  welcomed 
him  with  outstretched  hands,  and  told  him  so 
earnestly  that  they  remembered  what  he  had  said 
a  year  ago.  All  this  was  more  real  than  his 
circumstantial  association  with  his  doubting 
neighbors.  From  the  hard,  uncomprehending, 
ignorant  exactions  of  the  latter,  he  appealed  in 
his  empty  study  to  the  gentle  stimulation  of  the 
former ;  he  never  doubted  tliat  the  Bowman  women 
would  be  converted  to  his  belief  when  a  com- 
pleted successful  type  should  be  presented  to  them 
— they  were  too  good,  too  intelligent  to  repudiate 
direct  evidence.  The  attitude  of  these  contented 
wives  who  fell  like  wolves  upon  Tomorrow's  Free- 
dom he  ascribed  to  their  long-isolated,  undis- 
turbed economic  status.  Although  he  could  ex- 
plain why  his  associates  failed  to  understand  his 
relation  to  his  daughter,  he  underwent  periods  of 
spiritual  loneliness  which  were  more  insistent 
than  the  tender  tolerance  of  the  seer — stronger 
than  the  acquired  patience  of  the  teacher. 


THE  BOOK  71 

During  these  periods  of  depression,  he  tried  to 
shut  his  eyes  upon  the  protesting  faces  of  old 
Bowman  friends  by  recalling  the  compliant  fea- 
tures "of  those  searching  blindly  for  aid,"  who 
engaged  him  to  lecture.  These  swiftly  appearing, 
vanishing  figures  were  to  him  somewhat  as  the 
memory  of  his  wife,  a  cloudy  call  from  regions 
of  the  world  and  yet  above  it.  In  the  sublimation 
consequent  upon  these  moods  he  assured  himself 
again  and  again  that  he  lived  in  a  practical  world ; 
as  if  to  protect  himself  against  a  suspicion  that 
he  was  an  impractical  idealist  and  a  helpless  poet. 
It  was  then  he  wrote  the  pamphlets  which  attract- 
ed attention  by  daring  metaphor  and  revolution- 
ary allusion;  they  flared  about  the  well-trodden 
statistics  and  historical  jottings  like  beacons  on  a 
dim  highroad.  He  was  proud  of  them,  satisfied 
with  them,  for  they  were  struck  at  the  white  heat 
of  illumination.  The  pages  he  dashed  down  linked 
him  to  the  progressive  movements  of  the  day — on 
the  one  side  they  were  indications  from  incom- 
plete series  of  diligently  gathered  facts,  on  the 
other,  deductions  from  an  absolute  God-revealed 
truth. 

They  were  readily  quoted  upon  publication  and 
were  accepted  as  occasional  essays  in  the  better 
magazines.  He  wrote  musically,  with  a  literary 
conscience  reminiscent  of  Webster  and  Macauley 
and  Cicero,  whose  oratund  echoes  rolled  some- 
what quaintly  amid  the  general  bruskness  of  the 
day's  style.  At  the  height  of  the  memorable  quar- 
rel with  the  women  of  Bowman,  in  the  correspond- 
ence columns  of  The  Observer,  he  had  not  fallen 
once  from  standards  sanctioned  by  classic  satire. 
Mrs.  Dickson  said  it  was  a  "provoking  manner" 
and  the  vigor  of  her  letters  at  length  compelled 
the  President  of  the  college  to  suppress  their 
public  correspondence. 

At  this  the  Professor  smiled,  for  he  thought 


72  MUD  HOLLOW 

the  honors  were  his.  But  when  upon  his  return 
from  this  year's  lecture  circuit  he  found  on  his 
study  table  a  rejected  manuscript  he  was  sur- 
prised and  angered.  "Would  say,"  the  letter 
ran,  "your  article  on  the  'Sexless  Soul'  is  too 
polemic.  Its  style  is  classic  but  the  thought  fits 
the  village  library  better  than  a  million-read  mag- 
azine. We  deal  with  pleasant  facts,  those  that 
inspire.    Literature  is  soul,  not  bad  science." 

The  two  men  did  not  face  each  other.  Their 
only  contact  was  this  note,  yet  each  represented 
tendencies  nation-wide  in  import.  Stuart  was  a 
parlor  orator.  His  audience  was  a  dozen,  not  a 
million.  Everywhere  he  went  a  select  group 
gathered  to  hear  his  message.  His  missionary 
trips  were  tiny  affairs ;  he  paid  the  railroad ;  the 
town  furnished  the  biscuit  and  parlor.  Each 
village  had  a  lighted  torch,  an  earnest  group,  a 
receptive  attitude.  He  returned  with  zeal  for  his 
cause,  a  belief  that  America  was  ready  to  break 
its  somber  chains.  This  article  forged  in  the  pre- 
ceding months  he  had  tried  on  twenty  audiences. 
Hundreds  of  pale,  tired  women  had  shaken  his 
hand  and  approved  his  doctrine.  A  Sexless  Soul, 
yes.  The  shell  may  be  material,  different,  but  the 
soul  within  glows  with  the  same  eternal  essence. 

Such  was  the  thought;  such  the  fire  which  its 
reception  banked.  In  another  mood  was  the  edi- 
tor who  had  just 'come  from  a  two-dollar  break- 
fast. At  his  right  were  the  usual  forty  MSS  of 
the  morning  mail.  Before  him  were  nine  waste- 
ibaskets  into  which  the  rejected  were  cast,  to  be 
taken  by  secretaries  who  knew  by  the  basket  what 
answer  to  send.  He  had  never  seen  a  country 
village  nor  had  he  been  of  America  since  he  dined 
at  Oxford  some  years  before.  In  the  waste- 
baskets  fell  America,  crude  America,  it  is  true, 
still  each  told  of  some  crack  in  America's  glacial 
ice.    But  neither  running  water  nor  fledgling  emo- 


THE  BOOK  73 

tion  was  the  editor's  guest.  His  audience  was 
the  millions  who  form  the  crust,  not  the  tiny, 
rebellious  village  groups.  He  delighted  to  repro- 
duce what  Oxford,  Paris  and  Germany  said; 
America  was  of  interest  only  as  a  denunciation 
of  Puritan  morality;  the  last  word  of  the  non- 
descript West;  the  Greek  revival  at  Princeton; 
or  the  kind  of  toothpicks  Harvard  professors  use. 

Professor  Stuart's  article  had  not  been  thrown 
into  a  waste-basket  at  first  glance.  The  editor 
had  been  reading  about  a  Vienna  doctor  who  said 
the  soul  was  sex  and  hence  he  thought  the  sexless 
soul  was  a  branch  of  the  same  subject.  He  did 
not  find  his  mistake  until  he  had  read  three  pages. 
Then  in  a  kindly  mood  he  penned  the  letter 
Stuart  found  on  his  return. 

These  things  are  said  not  to  denounce  breakfast 
with  French  names,  twenty-five  cent  cigars  nor 
articles  on  Harvard  toothpicks.  They  are  meant  to 
illustrate  the  American  crust  and  the  cauldron 
beneath.  The  editor  represents  the  organized, 
disciplined  majority  or  at  least  what  editors  think 
majorities  want.  Their  twenty  thousand  a  year 
is  a  tribute  to  their  good  judgment  and  with  it 
no  fault  is  to  be  found.  Yet  Stuart  stood  for 
American  emotion  as  the  editor  did  for  its  mech- 
anism. Millions  of  miles  apart  in  thought,  hun- 
dreds of  degrees  in  temperature,  their  spheres 
touched  in  this  letter. 

Though  kindly  meant,  it  stung  the  Professor  to 
the  quick.  He  paced  back  and  forth,  now  reading 
his  manuscript,  now  burning  with  indignation  at 
the  men  who  presumed  to  limit  the  outlook  of  a 
half-million  women. 

Just  then,  Paul  entered,  ''"What  nowf*  was  his 
pleasing  inquiry. 

''Another  slam,"  pointing  to  the  letter. 

''This  is  a  challenge." 

"For  what?" 


74  MUD  HOLLOW 

'' A  fight." 

''How?" 

"That  is  for  you  to  say;  me  to  do." 

To  observe  how  children  repeat  the  histoiy  of 
the  race,  how  their  acts  are  conditioned  by  the 
deeds  of  the  world  as  seen  by  our  primitive  an- 
cestors, is  so  familiar  that  it  is  commonplace. 
The  ideals  of  youth  were  not  formed  in  so  early 
an  epoch  as  those  of  the  child,  but  they  are  just 
as  fixed  and  even  more  vivid.  The  young  man  is 
tribal,  not  animal  like  the  child.  He  is  the  guard- 
ian of  something  other  than  himself.  The  world 
is  his  village  and  the  hill  its  limit.  Beyond  it  is 
a  dreary  waste  of  pitfalls  from  which  come  legions 
of  evil  spirits  to  destroy  the  oasis  where  the  boy 
stands.  On  every  hill  are  dragons,  tigers  and 
beasts  of  prey  into  w-hose  grasp  innocent  maidens 
fall.  So  youth  buckling  on  its  armor  starts  forth 
to  fight  world  battles.  He,  the  simple  David,  must 
slay  the  mighty  Goliath,  he  must  drag  the  lion 
from  his  den,  reach  the  Holy  Grail,  bring  home  a 
host  of  trophies  and  have  a  multitude  of  freed 
maidens  throw  garlands  at  his  feet.  Youth  sees 
only  one  battle  and  one  victory.  All  is  at  stake 
in  its  final  plunge. 

Victory  and  then — well,  what  will  happen  then 
no  youth  knows,  nor  does  he  seem  to  care.  He 
goes  just  so  far,  uses  up  all  his  energy;  when  it 
revives  he  fights  again  the  same  old  battle,  meets 
the  same  foes  and  rescues  perhaps  one  maiden. 
He  goes  as  far  as  race  history  goes,  repeats,  be- 
cause that  is  what  race  history  has  been  doing  for 
many  thousand  years. 

Paul  as  he  revelled  in  the  imagery  of  youth, 
as  he  defied  the  dragons,  scorpions  and  devils  who 
h.irked  behind  the  forest  shadows,  was  doing  what 
other  boys  do.  To  all  mechanical  stimuli  he  re- 
sponded." His  mind,  however,  was  not  creative. 
Tell  him  what  to  do  and  he  did  it ;  but  when  asked 


THE  BOOK  75 

what  to  do  he  was  helpless  unless  action  had  been 
grooved  by  narrow  antecedent  experience.     He 
had  ideals  and  emotions  but  they  were  too  vague 
to    excite    definite    response.    Striking    phrases 
started  his  thinking  but  they  led  nowhere.     He 
could  not  bridge  the  gulf  between  the  push  of 
vague  inner  emotion  and  the  concrete  outer  world. 
It  would  seem  that  a  football  hero  should  be  a 
master-mind,  a  genius  to  solve  world  difficulties. 
Yet  helpless  is  he  unless  he  sees  a  goal  some  one 
else  has  set.    Such  a  man  is  merely  a  machine  to 
execute  but  not  to  plan.    The  woods  are  full  of 
Pauls.    Some  do  not  have  his  physical  perfection 
but  all  excel  and  fail  as  does  he.  They  sit  in  rows 
on  the  front  bench  of  every  convention,  gather 
on  its  committees  and  phrase  its  platforms.     A 
dozen  men  full  of  vigor  and  determination  ask 
each  other  what  to  do,  pass  the  buck,  suck  their 
cigars  and  adjourn.    Row  on  row  of  willing,  hope- 
less boobs  with  fine  muscles,  genial  faces — ^but  no 
vision.    Such  is  normalcy.    Paul  was  as  yet  mere- 
ly a  private  although  his  friends  mistook  him  for 
a  generalissimo.  ''England's  football  heroes  have 
conquered  the  world."     So  say  rows  of  college 
presidents  who  talk  classics  and  graduate  canned 
beef.     Their  imagination  converts   the   stadium 
into  a  world  arena  and  visualizes  the  victor  of  the 
one  as  the  hero  of  the  other.     Such  was  Paul. 
A  challenge  meant  a  fight;  in  a  fight  that  ugly 
old  dragon  always  got  in  Paul's  way  and  showed 
those  horrid  rows  of  teeth  which  made  Paul's 
blood  boil.     He  paced  up  and  down  the  room 
shaking  his  fist  at  an  image  which  he  saw  where 
others  would  merely  have  seen  the  wall.    Hit  first 
and  think  afterwards  was  his  motto.    Why  should 
a  dragon  hunter  be  afraid  of  a  Boston  editor! 

The  Professor  looked  up  surprised.  He  saw  a 
big,  hearty  boy  before  him,  with  a  firmly  set  jaw 
and  a  gleaming  eye.    It  was  just  the  look  which 


76  MUD  HOLLOW 

old  Tim  gave  when  he  saw  the  Mud  Hollow  swamp 
with  golden  grain  beneath  the  rushes.  Paul  was 
catching  another  vision,  vague,  but  forceful.  For 
three  years  he  had  been  a  muscular  giant;  his 
sway  none  could  resist.  Forgotten  in  the  back- 
ground lay  the  mother-descriptions  over  which  he 
had  plodded.  Now  the  vision  returned.  He  was 
ready  but  he  knew  not  the  way. 

The  Professor  jumped  to  his  feet;  his  old  smile 
returned.  He  too  had  a  vision,  and  old,  almost 
forgotten  emotion  surged.  Not  since  Ida's  death 
had  he  had  a  companion.  From  now  on  the  boy 
and  he  should  be  one. 

"Paul,"  he  cried,  "I  am  John  the  Baptist,  a 
forerunner;  the  real  task  is  for  someone  else. 
I  flash  up,  burn  brightly  and  die  out  before  the 
thirtieth  page  is  written.  It  is  for  you  to  sound 
the  tocsin.  Your  strength  and  my  vision  can  win 
even  against  the  icicles  of  Boston.  The  Wrongs 
of  Women!  That  is  our  message;  that  is  our 
task.  It  is  for  us  to  voice  the  universal  woe  of 
woman.  We  will  gather  the  datum  of  man's 
tvranny  and  wring  dry  every  historical  source. 
We  will  then  broaden  our  work  so  that  it  will 
express  the  sorrows  of  all  human  experience — 
give  a  larger  interpretation  to  the  organized 
bodies  of  women  I  address ;  lighten  their  gropings 
and  heap  up  before  their  eyes  the  mountains  of 
oppression  they  endure.  My  hope  is  to  influence 
legislation,  so  to  mold  thought  that  the  next  cen- 
turv  will  sweep  from  tlio  faco  of  the  earth  the 
need  for  such  another  book.  Do  you  care  to  fling 
yourself  on  such  a  task?"  The  undying  smolder 
in  his  eyes  was  flame  as  he  advanced  to  Paul. 

*'Yes,  yes,"  amazed  at  the  swift  reality  of  a 
far-off,  rosy  dream. 

Their  thought  had  run  a  common  route:  now 
for  the  first  time  it  was  in  the  open.  They  both 
felt  the  struggle  was  theirs;  together  the  victory 


THE  EXIT  77 

was  sure.  Few  realize  how  ardent  is  the  attach- 
ment between  gray-haired  teachers  and  their 
promising  pupils.  The  old  feel  their  failures  and 
wish  to  cast  them  on  younger  shoulders.  To  the 
young  the  confidence  of  their  seniors  is  an  in' 
spiration  which  transforms  vague  dreams  into 
pleasing  realities.  They  get  at  a  bound  wliat 
years  of  toil  could  otherwise  hardly  make  possible. 
The  two  had  grown  together  after  years  of  con- 
tact and  were  ready  to  enter  mutual  enterprises. 
Each  day  they  planned  anew  the  great  venture 
on  which  they  were  embarking.  Their  long  walks 
knew  no  other  topic;  their  dreams  were  sweet 
with  coming  realization. 


X 

The  Exit 

Paul's  sanguine  temperament  responded  health- 
fully from  the  first  benumbing  sense  of  unworthi- 
ness.  There  began  to  bestir  within  him  the 
authority  of  the  author  and  the  priest.  He  felt 
that  a  power  had  been  conferred  upon  him  by  Ifis 
setting  himself  apart  for  the  quest  of  the  Truth ; 
had  there  been  a  single  strain  of  poetry  in  his 
limpid  nature  he  would  have  seen  himself  as  a 
sunny  Galahad  of  the  printed  page ;  he  M^rote  in- 
troductions and  conclusions  which  soared  across 
the  intervening  gulfs  of  silence;  he  ached  with 
energy  which  generated  moments  of  blinding 
egoism  when  he  felt  he  was  the  Lord's  appointed. 
With  a  fine  logic  he  became  increasingly  indig- 
nant at  Ruth's  arraignment  by  the  women  of 
her  circle.  He  held  long  debates  with  them  in 
which  he  showed  loyalty  to  the  Professor's  views. 
Yet  when  he  was  with  Ruth  he  was  unable  to 
qualify  her.    It  was  as  if  he  looked  into  a  beautiful 


78  MUD  HOLLOW 

crystal,  clear  and  perfect,  yet  he  went  away  from 
her  precisely  as  he  went  to  her — so  few  facets 
had  she  for  the  deflections  of  opinion.  So,  after 
a  few  weeks  of  scientific  observation  and  nega- 
tive results,  he  again  half  forgot  her  presence. 

His  roughnesses  suited  the  greatness  of  the 
heroes  in  whom  Euth  revelled.  She  pictured  in- 
numerable pageants  wherein  Paul  shone  in  cui- 
rassed  splendor,  or  panted  in  a  fray  with  his 
broad  breast  heaving  as  she  had  seen  it  in  a  foot- 
ball battle,  or  rode  away  with  a  trembling  laugh 
as  a  Sabine  maiden  hung  white  across  his  saddle 
bow. 

As  the  final  hour  awards  of  the  college  days 
approached,  she  liked  best  to  marshal  her  heroes 
— all  made  flesh  in  Paul — for  victors'  awards  in 
the  field  or  forum.  She  wreathed  his  yellow  head 
with  laurel  and  fancied  how  nobly  Roman  his 
clean,  high-colored  face  would  then  become  with 
its  immobile  composure  under  tumultuous  ovation. 
How  calm  and  still  it  had  been  in  those  delirious 
moments  on  Franklin  Field  when  all  Bowman 
reeled  past  the  benches,  drunk  with  its  glory! 
Next,  his  tatters  and  exhaustion  vanished  before 
the  Augustan  front  of  some  Prince  of  Letters,  and 
she  herself  to  the  music  of  a  chanted  ode  advanced 
and  crowned  him.  This  Homeric  fragment  re- 
curred to  her  day  and  night  and  took  possession 
of  her  fancy.  At  last  a  chance  came  for  its  ex- 
pression. ' '  Brown  has  put  Bowman  on  the  map, ' ' 
wrote  an  old  graduate.  "He  is  a  public  bene- 
factor. The  next  class  will  be  double  in  size.  I 
never  realized  how  much  more  six  was  than  four 
until  I  heard  the  news.  Let's  do  something  de- 
cent. Every  one  should  chip  in  and  show  his 
loyalty."  A  special  committee  was  formed  to 
consummate  this  general  wish.  Between  a  watch,  a 
loving  cup  and  an  encyclopedia  a  long  debate  en- 
sued. 


THE  EXIT  79 

*'0h,  fie,"  cried  Ruth  in  anguish.  "Those 
putrid  prizes  are  silly.  Every  minister  gets  an 
encyclopedia  when  he  comes,  a  loving  cup  when 
he  goes.  They  won't  do  for  Paul.  To  a  real  hero 
should  come  a  hero's  compense.  For  thousands 
of  years  a  laurel  wreath  has  been  the  reward  of 
great  men.  Its  value  is  nothing,  but  its  meaning 
is  everything." 

''But  who  wants  to  give  a  bunch  of  rusty 
leaves  ? ' '  put  in  the  practical  Fred. 

*'I  do,"  she  said,  ''I'll  give  it  to  him  gladly. 
Oh,  Fred,  just  tliink  for  a  minute  how  much  laurel 
means !  It  is  reserved  for  heroes — an  emblem  of 
their  triumphs.  They  rode  into  the  cities  with  it 
on  their  brows!  Have  you  seen  my  Perry  pic- 
tures, Fred?" 

"A  lot  of  old  duffers,"  he  said.  "That  fat  old 
has-been  Samuel  Johnson  had  one  of  your  wreaths 
with  a  bow  of  hair-ribbon  at  the  back  of  his  neck. 
Brown  won 't  stand  for  it,  Ruth. ' ' 

"He  needn't  wear  it.  We  could  just  present  it 
with  a  poem  or  an  address — anyhow,  there  ought 
to  be  something  grand,  oughn't  there?" 

So  seldom  were  Ruth  and  Fred  in  disagreement 
the  clash  caused  a  pause.  Finally  the  junior  rep- 
resentative said,  "Ruth  can  do  the  trick  all  right, 
I'm  sure.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  was  much 
on  Greek  history.  It  always  got  my  goat.  All 
forgotten  long  ago  except  for  that  old  bloke  who 
wrote  a  logic,  Ira  Slottle— Irish  Tottle?  That's 
more  like  it.  Say,  Bonv,  were  the  Irish  on  the  go 
then?" 

This  poser  was  not  settled  by  the  august  senior 
president  who  familiarly  accepted  the  name.  He 
fumbled  his  Kappa  Kev  a  minute,  then  annonno^^l 
his  decision.  "Say,  fellows,  let's  Greek  it.  Catch 
Paul  under  the  big  tulip,  have  Jimmv  blow  his 
horn,  all  rush  in  and  watch  Ruth  do 'her  stunt. 
A  genuine  surprise  party.    That's  the  ticket.'' 


80  MUD  HOLLOW 

In  the  festal  hurry  of  Commencement  there 
was  scant  opportunity  for  discussion  of  the  de- 
tails; the  town  was  be-rosed  and  be-ribboned, 
alumni  came  and  were  feasted,  beaming  parents 
arrived  from  farms  and  shops,  creaking  in  new 
boots  and  silks;  shy  country  girls  visited  their 
beaux  and  sweethearts  openly  under  the  Bowman 
ehns.  Class  Day  was  a  merry  glory,  cool,  with  a 
breeze  that  shaking  the  flowers  swung  a  few  white 
vapors  high  through  the  blue.  The  morning  was 
a  kind  of  ethereal  tumult  of  drifting  petals,  of 
scudding  clouds,  of  riotous  warmth,  odor,  colors 
and  laughter.  Groups  gathered  and  parted  again 
to  mingle  with  other  features  of  class  life. 

There  came  a  little  rush  about  the  Seniors  and 
a  musical  volley  of  jests.  The  historian  vaunted 
uproarious  misdeeds  and  the  poet  rolled  hexa- 
meters before  Paul  recounted  the  invasion  of  the 
football  warriors.  When  he  slipped  forward 
he  was  honored  by  the  click  of  reportorial  cam- 
eras and  the  round-eyed  staring  of  bucolic  guests. 

He  stood  half-lounging,  his  hands  in  pocket, 
observant,  composed  and  at  his  ease;  long  since 
he  had  acquired  a  facile  public  bearing,  the  supple 
grace  which  is  a  readiness  to  meet  crises  before 
crowds  with  the  intoxication  of  observed  suc- 
cesses, and  sharpened  beneath  the  accustomed 
stimulant  of  shouting  hundreds.  He  who  had 
difficulty  to  express  his  sober  thought  knew  how, 
when  roused  by  a  cheering  mob,  to  seize  the 
proper  word  and  toss  the  winning  order  to  the 
niche  of  an  emergency.  So  today  he  wore  uncon- 
sciously an  air  of  modest  dominance  and  the  hap- 
py assurance  of  an  established  ability  to  do  well. 
He  pleased  his  audience  before  he  spoke  with  his 
charm  of  manner,  and  won  them  wholly  by  the 
earnestness  of  his  tributes  to  the  men  whom  he 
captained.  He  stood  forth  to  do  justice  to  the 
rank  and  file,  to  the  fellows  who  year  after  year 


THE  EXIT  81 

strove,  sweated  and  were  faithful.  He  ended  by 
pronouncing  slowly  and  gravely  the  names  of  the 
men  who  had  saved  the  day  for  Bowman  on  the 
fields  of  twenty  years.  "I  look  into  your  hearts, 
and  read  these  names  from  the  Roll  of  Fame  en- 
graven there ! " 

He  paused  upon  this  peroration,  and  Ruth  took 
the  instant  for  her  own.  She  left  the  compact 
circle  and  quickly  was  coming  to  him  across  the 
grass  before  he  could  slip  back  into  his  place.  He 
waited,  with  the  smile  that  all  the  people  wore 
now ;  that  something  pretty  was  to  happen  at  the 
hands  of  Ruth  he  saw  at  once.  He  advanced  and 
met  her  at  the  center  of  the  velvet  carpet.  She 
extended  her  arms,  both  hands  holding  up  a  slen- 
der wreath. 

**You  have  left  out  one  name  from  your  list," 
she  said  clearly,  "which  stands  first  on  the  Roll 
of  Fame.  It  is  to  show  you  how  Bowman  remem- 
bers it  that  I  have  here  this  laurel  wreath.  To 
whom  can  we  give  it  with  all  it  means?  To  the 
one  who  is  most  loyal  to  Bowman,  to  the  one 
who  loves  it  best  of  all,  who  is  always  ready  to 
serve,  to  the  one  who  is  always  present  to  inspire 
us  on,  on,  instead  of  being  satisfied  with  what  we 
have  won.  We,  your  friends,  present  it  to  you, 
the  pride  of  Bowman. ' '  She  moved  close  to  him 
and  offered  the  circlet;  he  took  it  and  tried  to 
speak,  and  was  drowned  by  salvos  of  applause. 

Ruth  stepped  backward,  but  he  caught  her  hand 
and  held  it  until  he  could  be  heard.  Then  he  said 
gaily :  ' '  The  pride  of  Bowman.  Who  is  the  pride 
of  Bowman?  Not  I  This  is  she!"  Leaning 
over,  he  placed  the  wreath  on  Ruth's  curls. 
Amazed  and  confused  by  the  swiftness  of  Paul's 
reprisal,  she  looked  up  at  him  and  waited  uncer- 
tainly. The  Captain  of  the  Football  Team  played 
now  with  the  ripening  resources  of  four  years 
of  drama.    He  leaped  out  of  his  character  into 


82  MUD  HOLLOW 

one  that  could  score  heavily  with  the  public  hang- 
ing on  his  nerves.  He  bent  to  kiss  her  forehead 
but  she,  perceiving  his  intention,  lifted  her  face 
with  an  obedience  so  anxious  not  to  blunder  that 
their  lips  met  quivering.  Paul  sprang  back  in- 
stantly, and  Ruth  ran  laughing,  scarlet,  bewil- 
dered, to  her  place  by  Fred. 

The  chapel  bell  rang  to  usher  in  the  next  event. 
There  was  a  rush  to  see  the  tablet  of  the  new 
class  uncovered.  The  only  one  who  moved  not 
was  Ruth.  She  stood  transfixed,  the  wreath  still 
on  her  brow.  Without  she  did  not  seem  changed, 
only  a  bit  flushed.  But  within  there  was  a  surging 
she  had  never  before  felt.  She  pressed  her  hand 
on  her  bosom.  Her  heart  throbbed,  her  whole  be- 
ing seemed  to  be  on  fire.  Up  to  this  time  all  her 
pleasure  had  been  external.  The  world  brought 
its  products,  and  no  return  was  asked  but  laugh 
and  smile.  Now  she  felt  an  unknown  quickening, 
a  joy  and  yet  uncertainty.  The  touch  of  the  lips 
had  given  a  new  meaning  to  life.  Her  fate  was 
no  longer  hers.  It  was  bound  up  in  another. 
Paul  had  been  her  hero,  she  a  humble  worshipper. 
Now  he  was  more.  He  had  entered  her  holy  of 
holies,  torn  the  covering  which  hid  her  inner  self. 
Yesterday  she  thought  of  herself  as  a  boy,  a  com- 
rade of  Paul  and  Fred.  Today  she  became  a  girl, 
all  her  latent  instincts  active.  Laughing  her  man- 
nish ideas  to  scorn,  they  set  a  new  goal.  Paul 
was  hers.  She  felt  a  strong  impulse  to  run  along 
and  claim  him.  But  the  new  motives  were  held  in 
check  by  a  modesty  she  never  before  had  felt. 
Most  girls  have  their  modesty  driven  in  to  them. 
Hers  was  a  mute  feeling.  A  minute  before  the 
laughing  crowd  around  the  ivy  would  have  drawn 
her.  Now  she  felt  naked,  lonely,  ashamed.  Her 
hair,  her  face,  her  limbs,  had  been  nothing  to  her 
before.  Now  she  shrank  behind  the  bushes  to 
avoid  late  comers.    She  seemed  so  weak,  so  help- 


ON  THE  RIVER  83 

less,  so  bare.  Could  Paul  admire  a  mere  notliing, 
one  who  had  so  little  to  give,  one  whose  knowledge 
was  so  vague  and  useless  I  No,  she  could  not  run 
to  claim  him.  She  would  read,  she  would  study, 
she  would  cook.  He  would  go  but  when  he  re- 
turned— perhaps  she  might  be  worthy.  Filled 
with  this  thought,  she  ran  home,  picked  up  a 
German  book  and  studied  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  Yesterday  she  lived  without  a  goal.  To- 
day her  goal  was  the  only  thing  worth  living  for. 
Such  is  the  history  of  one  kiss  to  a  woman. 

To  Paul  it  was  mere  incident,  a  happy  exit  from 
a  difficult  situation.  He  enjoyed  the  day  .just  the 
same  as  if  naught  peculiar  had  happened.  He 
slept  soundly  that  night  and  the  next  day  left. 
He  was  to  return  as  the  Professor's  assistant. 


XI 

On  the  River 

Winter  changed  to  summer  with  a  sudden 
bound.  A  warm  south  wind  gave  to  the  valley 
touches  of  green  to  offset  the  paleness  of  the  dead 
grass ;  the  pines  on  the  Ridge  still  loomed  in  hum- 
ble black,  but  the  old  haystack  in  the  middle- 
distance  was  wrapped  with  a  bluish  tinge.  The 
horizon  was  draped  with  heavy  clouds  which  stood 
their  ground  against  the  aggressive  sun.  Life  is 
breaking  through  the  meshes  of  winter  but  its 
somber  tone  still  prevails. 

Into  this  shadowy  world  there  defiled  a  num- 
ber of  trotting  men  in  white  running  clothes ;  the 
coach's  eyes  came  to  them  snappily  and  theirs  to 
him  with  proud  sidewise  glances.  They  passed 
him,  neck  and  shoulder  supple  with  sweat;  he 
noted  how  they  lifted  themselves  with  an  indefin- 
able vim.     A  little  behind  and  at  the  side  the 


84  MUD  HOLLOW 

leader  ran,  directing,  guiding,  husbanding  each 
individual  ability.  How  he  toAvered  beside  the 
slender  Freshman  striplings!  His  great  driving 
muscles  under  the  piston  of  his  will  shot  him 
back  and  forth  along  the  line — they  moved  with 
perfect  smoothness  at  half-speed — they  glided  in 
unconscious,  unheeded  rhythm  of  complete  re- 
straint, complete  power,  just  beneath  that  lust- 
rous satin  skin.  He  ordered  laughingly;  his  blue 
eyes  gleamed  as  he  fell  into  step  with  a  boy  to 
show  him  the  pace. 

"Oh,"  Gannett  called,  ''come  here  when  you 
get  around  again." 

Paul  nodded  over  his  shoulder  and  at  once 
paced  to  the  head  of  his  little  cavalcade.  Fred 
saw  him  take  it  across  some  rough  ground  before 
they  vanished  to  the  final  lap  around  the  building. 

*'If  I  could  get  the  fellows  to  work  for  me  as 
they  work  for  Brown,  we'd  have  the  team  of  the 
state,"  he  thought. 

''Well,  how  goes  it,  old  man?"  he  asked  im- 
mediately after. 

"Fine,"  said  Paul.  "Pine.  I  had  them  out 
for  an  hour  and  they  never  whimpered.  I  can't 
get  enough  of  it  myself.  But  I  'm  not  in  first-rate 
condition — that  arm  isn't  what  it  ought  to  be — 
what's  the  fault?"  He  flexed  it  with  an  anxious 
air  and  watched  the  muscles  curve  down  its  length 
under  the  w^hite  cotton  sleeve. 

Gannett  scoffed  with  a  great  blow  upon  the 
biceps.  "You're  right  as  right,"  he  said,  "but 
it's  doing  vou  good.  No  place  like  the  old  Alma 
M." 

Paul  laughed.  "I've  got  to  do  something  to  fill 
up  spare  time,  and  it  seems  so  good  to  be  out  here 
that  I  don't  want  to  go  off  by  myself.  But  I've 
got  to  this  minute — an  outline  for  the  Professor 
tonight.  Garvin's  asleep  in  my  room — and  I  talk 
to  somebody  when  I  hang  around  here.    I'm  off 


ON  THE  RIVER  85 

to  the  haystack.  The  Professor  wants  the  out- 
line." 

''Ruth  pretty  well?  Haven't  seen  her  for  a 
week." 

"She  stays  home,  I  guess." 

Gannett  opened  his  mouth,  then  closed  it.  Next 
he  smiled  with  infinite  intent.  "Well,  we  don't 
expect  to  see  her  as  often  now  as  we  used  to." 
His  eyelid  drooped  wickedly  and  with  craft. 

"Why,  what's  up?"  said  Paul. 

"Go  along,  you  loafer,  don't  try  to  fool  with 
your  Uncle  Fred,"  he  said  in  high  good  humor, 
and  seating  himself  with  his  hands  hung  between 
his  knees,  his  hat  precariously  set  upon  his  head, 
he  whistled  a  stave  and  his  gaze  lounged  back  to 
the  melting  distances.  Suddenly  he  stopped  on  a 
high  note  and  listened;  a  slight  step  hurried  up 
behind  him;  a  murmur  of  skirts  caused  him  to 
wink  again.  He  waited  roguishly  for  the  girl  to 
speak. 

"Hello,  Fred,"  she  said,  " where 's  every- 
body?" 

"Your  father's  gone  home,  I'm  sorry  to  say," 
he  answered.  "Sit  down  by  me  and  I'll  tell  you 
a  story." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  now,"  she  went  on,  absent- 
ly.   "Have  you  seen  Paul?" 

"He  ran  around  here  with  a  squad  just  now." 

"Will  he  come  back?" 

"Well,  he'll  have  to  some  time,"  he  said. 

"Then  I'll  wait,"  she  cried  and  seated  herself 
on  the  steps. 

"But  I  think  he  wants  to  be  alone,  all,  all 
alone. ' ' 

"Where  is  he?"  she  rose,  "I  want  to  see  him." 

"If  it's  important — is  it  important,  Ruth?" 

* '  Oh,  there  he  is !    See !    At  the  stack. ' ' 

"What  eyes,"  he  commented.  "Not  every  girl 
would  know  him  that  far." 


86  MUD  HOLLOW 

**You  can't  mistake  him  wlien  you  know  him 
as  I  do." 

* '  Well,  don 't  go  down  there, ' '  he  said  whiningly, 
"stay  here  with  me  and  I'll  take  vou  for  a  nice 
walk." 

*'No,"  she  said  with  decision,  "I  want  to  see 
Paul.  I've  been  looking  all  around  for  him.  But 
you  can  walk  down  there  if  you  want  to. ' ' 

"Thanks.    I  think  it's  too  chilly — for  me " 

he  shivered. 

She  waved  her  hand  and  left  him.  He  watched 
her  idly,  fondly;  a  protecting  smile  of  intimate 
loyalty  followed  her  swift  steps.  "They  don't 
tease  worth  a  cent,"  he  admitted,  with  pride  and 
pleasure  in  the  cleverness  of  his  friends.  "She  is 
just  as  smart  as  he  is,"  Ms  thought  ran  on,  "and 
she  takes  joshing  like — a  man.  She's  square. 
When  Paul  was  absent  she  never  once  looked  at 
another  fellow.  I  hate  these  giggling,  secret 
flirts  who  try  to  keep  a  dozen  on  the  string  at 
once.  Gosh!  I  like  the  way  she  said  'I  want  to 
see  Paul!'  They're  good  enough  for  each  other 
— I'm  satisfied." 

He  sharply  quenched  a  sheepish  grin  as  the 
imagined  tableau  of  the  lovers'  kisses  rose  before 
him ;  a  faint  shade  of  unrest  followed  it ;  the  two 
warm  friends  had  withheld  their  confidence  and 
the  general  baiting  was  as  far  as  he  ought  to  go. 
It  hurt  him  that  he  could  express  his  approval 
only  in  the  cordial  innuendoes  of  society.  Those 
were  the  common  privilege  and  he,  the  true  old 
friend,  might  have  been  let  be5^ond  the  page  of 
uproarious  wink  and  ostentatious  thrusts.  He 
wished  that  he  might  tell  Paul  how  fine  a  girl  he 
had,  how  strictly  honorable  she  had  always  been 
while  he  was  gone,  and  how  the  fellows  took  care 
of  the  greatest  girl  in  Bowman  for  him.  But 
neither  Paul  nor  Ruth  had  yet  let  down  the  barrier 
"before  that  speech.     "What's  he  saying  to  her 


ON  THE  RIVER  87 

nowT'  he  asked  himself,  as  her  swift  figure  van- 
ished. 

She  stood  an  instant  watching  Paul  frowning 
in  the  coil  of  thought  before  he  looked  up  to 
greet  her.  "What  are  you  working  over  now?" 
she  said,  sinking  at  his  side  with  a  single  flexible 
motion. 

' '  Nothing, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  I  was  thinking  of  a 
heading  for  my  work  tonight.  Did  your  father 
send  for  me  I" 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  came  myself.  I  saw  you 
here." 

There  was  a  pause  and  she  looked  at  him  from 
head  to  foot. ' '  Aren't  you  cold? ' '  she  said.  ' ' That 
suit  is  too  thin  for  such  a  day.  See  how  warmly 
dressed  I  am! "  She  laid  her  hand  upon  the  great 
arch  of  his  breast,  warm  and  pulsing  beneath  the 
scant  cotton  covering.  "Why,  how  warm  you 
are,"  she  cried,  astonished. 

"I  always  am  wanting  to  get  my  coat  off,"  he 
said.  "  I  took  the  windows  out  of  their  sashes 
a  month  ago;  now  I  wish  I  could  sleep  on  the 
Ridge  to  keep  cool.  I'm  sorry  I'm  not  a  wild 
Indian,  Ruth.  Houses  and  covers  inconvenience 
me." 

"You  are  awkward  and  restless  in  the  house," 
she  granted.  "But  I  think  you  would  look  well 
in  armor." 

Paul  laughed.  "You're  an  odd  child.  Armor 
must  be  something  of  an  extinguisher  to  the  in- 
dividual, it  seems  to  me." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  see  you  oftener  dressed  in 
an  animal's  skin,  riding  barebacked.  That  shows 
your  power  better;  all  your  muscles  spring  out 
when  you  grip  the  horse  with  your  knees. ' ' 

"But  I'm  not  as  strong  as  I  was.  As  a  kid  I 
could  hardly  dent  my  muscles  anywhere  and 
now "  he  smote  his  chest  and  then  his  leg. 


88  MUD  HOLLOW 

* 'They're  better  than  any  others,"  she  cried. 
''My  muscles  tire.    See  how  flabby  they  are." 

Leaning  forward,  she  drew  her  dress  aside  to 
show  her  slender  curved  leg. 

Against  this  his  nature  recoiled  mutely,  unin- 
telligibly. Looking  off  queerly  into  the  blue  air, 
with  a  kind  of  nausea  of  the  spirit  he  left  her, 
walking  with  a  swift  and  even  step. 

Surprised,  she  watched  him  going;  had  some 
one  called  him?  She  looked  about  to  see — or  had 
he  been  angry  at  her  interruption  ?  She  fell  back 
in  the  fear  of  that  to  the  old  negative,  watching 
attitude  of  the  shadowy  girl,  tiptoeing  beliind  the 
study  conferences  lest  she  disturb  the  occupation 
of  the  hour.  Research  and  reflection  she  had  al- 
ways reverenced ;  alas,  would  Paul  think  less  well 
of  her  that  now  with  her  identity  newly  found, 
precious,  blossoming,  she  could  not  meekly  abide 
events  until  he  called?  Wouldn't  it  have  been 
better,  the  thought  half  frightened  her,  if  she 
had  not  come  at  all?  But  how  could  she  have 
helped  it  and  why  should  she  not? 

She  knew  his  habit  of  negligent  courtesy,  broken 
sometimes  in  the  rudeness  of  perfect  equality; 
for  hours  and  days  her  father  and  he  had  frankly 
overlooked  her  haunting  presence;  she  had  not 
minded  until  now,  when  she  leaped  forward  with 
imperious  demands.  Educated  in  the  systematic 
freedom  which  her  father  said  would  make  her  a 
woman  of  tlie  tomorrow,  she  had  been  deprived  of 
the  shelter  of  her  forebears,  and  had  become  fear- 
less of  consequences.  The  Professor  had  un- 
knowingly evoked  the  naked  simplicity  of  the 
primitive  mate  of  man — that  untempered  egoist 
who  took  and  gave  him  undrooping  lids.  He  had 
unwrapped  a  savage  as  guileless  as  a  doe.  That 
early  psychic  curiosity  of  the  primitive  woman, 
which  held  her  motionless  while  her  destiny  ap- 


ON  THE  RIVER  89 

proaclied,  was  in  Ruth  evolved  to  fleet  imagination 
that  took  her  open-eyed  and  eager  to  meet  it. 

She  was  the  pliant,  tearless  creature  of  a  single 
force;  she  lived  in  a  world  whose  sole  architect 
was  her  imagination ;  among  its  fairy  terrors,  its 
betowered  hills,  be-lillied  valleys,  its  blue-eyed 
heroes,  there  was  no  danger  on  which  it  was  not 
a  rich  delight  to  dream,  nor  a  period  not  steeped 
in  gorgeous  glory.  No  denials;  no  pale  giving 
up;  no  pleasure  in  temptation  conquered.  Her 
way  was  to  devise  disasters  from  which  she  was 
lifted  lightly  by  superhuman  strength  and  adroit- 
ness. Her  hero  was  never  the  monk — nor  she  the 
nun,  romantic  and  idealized  by  their  qualities  of 
deprivation.  All  about  her  red  blood  plowed, 
shouts  rang,  steel  clashed,  the  battle  waxed  and 
she,  the  reward,  was  lifted  to  the  hero's  arm — to 
be  borne  away  in  triumph — why  and  whither  she 
but  dimly  guessed;  she  hardly  cared  to  linger 
with  her  hero  after  the  sun  had  set  upon  his 
melee. 

What  did  her  father's  books  on  the  capture  of 
wives  convey  to  her?  Ah,  what  could  they  mean 
if  not  that  a  woman  was  seen,  was  noted  beau- 
tiful, struggled  for  by  brave  men,  won  by  the 
bravest  and  swept  away  across  leagues  of  forest, 
on  and  on,  with  the  blue  eyes,  the  hero's  eyes — 
ah!  Paul's  eyes — looking  into  hers?  A  beautiful 
excitement  touched  her  sleeping  senses  for  a  brief 
moment  when  she  pictured  that  first  seeing  of  his 
— the  light  of  recognition  dawning  in  his  careless 
glance ;  then  the  pause,  the  rapture  while  he  gazed 
and  gazed,  and  knew  her  his  decreed  reward. 
While  he  was  far  off  she  had  lived  that  scene  in 
many  aspects;  would  he  wish  to  win  her  when 
he  saw  she  could  challenge  the  boys  with  her  firm 
and  agile  strength?  She  strove  mightily  to  build 
manlike  fibres  into  her  tender  body — Paul  would 
be  very  proud  of  her  success.     Would  she  hold 


90  MUD  HOLLOW 

him  with  her  knowledge  of  the  subjects  he  studied 
in  college  and  she  scanned  at  home?  Or  would 
she  first  arrest  him  with  her  beauty — the  beauty 
of  mind,  of  sympathy  and  co-operation? 

Thrilling  and  singing  with  her  imagination,  she 
was  yet  so  far  from  the  voice  of  Life  itself  that 
no  sinister  echo  said,  "Your  sweet  body — not  in 
its  pitiful  strength,  but  its  almighty  power — is  the 
instrument  you  seek.  Offer  it  to  the  maw  of  a 
man 's  passion  and  he  will  be  aware  of  you. ' '  But 
she  was  adventuring  into  Life  with  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  primal  wilds,  unreinforced  by  experi- 
ence. She  hoped  to  influence  men  by  a  resemb- 
lance to  them;  equality  had  made  her  imitative; 
could  she  but  win  a  race  or  general  a  game,  the 
man  she  wanted  then  would  pause  and  see  her. 

Such  thoughts  were  the  product  of  her  environ- 
ment and  of  her  father's  philosophy.  Girls  were 
boys  in  the  making.  To  them  came  the  same 
honors,  the  same  prizes.  They  were  one  in  aim 
and  ambition.  Now,  instinct  and  emotion  were 
creating  new  pictures,  voicing  new  claims.  A  de- 
sire swelled  up  in  her  bosom  not  to  conquer  but 
to  be  conquered.  To  yield,  to  give,  to  be  a  part 
of  another  instead  of  being  an  independent  self. 
In  her  new  dream,  she  was  not  an  actor  but  a  wit- 
ness. A  reward  and  not  a  contestant.  Prizes 
whet  the  appetite  for  conquest  only  as  their  beauty 
is  appreciated.  If  only  Paul  would  see  her  thus, 
the  ice  w^ould  be  broken.  Instead  of  this,  he  had 
given  her  one  cold  look  of  hate  and  left  her !  The 
shock  of  surprise  and  blank  disappointment  held 
her  motionless  until  he  was  half  across  the  field. 
She  rose,  sighing  with  mystification,  and  followed 
him.  "I  will  see  him  tonight,  in  the  stnd}^,"  she 
promised  herself,  but  was  not  happy  for  there  she 
knew  she  could  not  make  him  look  at  her.  She 
knit  her  brows.     Ah,  what  must  she  do  to  be 


ON  THE  RIVER  91 

recognized  1  What  to  be  seized  and  mated  by  the 
hero? 

In  her  own  room  that  night,  before  the  glass, 
she  wasted  no  more  conjecture  on  the  "unexpected 
accident  of  the  afternoon.  Her  beauty  was  so 
potent  that  she  thought  he  must  see  it.  She  had 
waited  patiently  during  the  days  of  absence;  but 
the  weeks  of  his  unheeding  presence  tried  her.  * '  I 
am  much  prettier  with  my  dress  off,"  she  thought, 
"I  wish  he  could  see  me  now."  For  a  week  she 
failed  to  be  alone  with  him.  Her  wit  told  her  not 
to  intrude  upon  the  projection  of  a  new  chapter 
of  the  book. 

She  heard  him  call  across  the  campus,  one  warm 
noon,  "All  right,  Mitchell.  I'll  meet  you  on  the 
river  at  three.    Take  the  long  skiff." 

''Good,"  said  Mitchell,  "I'll  have  her  ready." 

Ruth  ran  to  her  room  and  looked  searchingly 
in  her  mirror,  questioning,  approving.  She  walked 
with  her  father  when  he  crossed  the  campus  on 
the  Professors'  Path,  at  two  o'clock,  tingling  with 
mirth,  laughing  and  loving  him. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  "how  can  you  be 
so  happy  when  your  poor  father,  immuring  him- 
self in  a  class  room,  must  forfeit  three  long  hours 
of  a  perfect  spring  day!  Daughter,  shall  I  cut 
and  run?"  he  said,  with  the  little  pantomime  of 
mystery  which  they  had  so  often  played  together. 
"We  will  take  a  long  detour  and  I  will  show  you 
the  cluster  of  lady's-slipper  we  found  last  spring. 
Sneak  back  and  get  our  field-glasses,  and  we  will 
count  birds,  too,"  he  whispered. 

"Shame,  shame,"  she  admonished.  "Be  good 
until  Saturday,  Daddy.  You  must  indeed  go  in 
and  work  today.  Besides,  I'm  going  boating  with 
Paul." 

"Ah,"  he  answered,  "that  is  good."  He  shook 
his  head  stubbornly.    "I'm  coming,  too." 

She  laughed  again.    ' '  Oh,  papa, ' '  she  said, '  *  you 


92  MUD  HOLLOW 

are  so  funny!  Now  I'll  tell  you  wliat  I'll  do.  If 
you  will  promise  me  not  to  cut  today,  I'll  get  up 
a  picnic  for  tomorrow.  We  can  start  early,  walk 
or  hire  Eusliton's  three-seated  wagon — oh,  good! 
let's  do  that.  I  haven't  driven  this  spring — we 
can  go  away  up  to  the  gap  for  laurel. ' '  Here  she 
threw  her  arm  around  her  father's  shoulder.  ''I'll 
ask  Paul  this  afternoon  and  tell  him  to  see  Fred — 
and  who  else  shall  we  invite?  Never  mind,  we'll 
think.    Now  won 't  that  be  fun  1 ' ' 

He  wiped  his  eyes  dejectedly.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
**I  suppose  it  will  do  if  I  can  have  a  chocolate 
cake,  too." 

"I'll  make  it  myself  tonight,"  she  cried.  "Now, 
kiss  me!  Be  good!"  she  warned  him  with  a  slim 
forefinger  as  he  raised  his  hat.  They  paused, 
smiling  happily  at  each  other  for  an  instant  before 
they  parted. 

The  girl  looked  across  the  thick  deep  green  of 
the  fields,  to  the  stream  emerging  into  sight  as 
a  bright  silver  disc  at  the  steep  foot  of  the  harsh 
ridge,  before  it  threaded  onward  just  out  of  vision 
beyond  the  swelling  meadow  slopes.  She  went 
then  to  the  reading  room  and  turned  the  leaves 
of  magazines  and  chatted  restlessly  with  a  few 
Freshmen  who  thought  to  propitiate  the  Professor 
by  politeness  to  the  daughter.  But  she  soon  left 
them  to  walk  about  the  halls  and  at  three  o'clock 
they  saw  her  hasten  from  the  building.  Once  on 
the  way  to  the  river,  she  lingered  so  that  Paul  and 
Mitchell  first  saw  her  sitting  on  the  bank  when 
they  paddled  swiftly  around  a  bend.  Mitchell 
trailed  his  paddle;  Paul's  interrupted  stroke 
knocked  it  from  his  hand. 

"Ouch,  hold  on  there,  Brown!  you  stung  my 
hand,"  he  said.  "This  is  good  seamanship,  isn't 
it,  Ruth?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  answer;  her  eyes  searched  Paul's 


ON  THE  RIVER  93 

with  a  naked  glance  and  her  breath  quivered  be- 
tween her  lips. 

**I  did  spoil  the  stroke,"  said  Paul.  He  spun 
the  boat  so  quickly  on  its  axis  that  the  bow  lifted 
from  the  water  and  his  paddle  left  a  great  hol- 
low. "Now  you  can  pick  it  up,"  he  said,  and 
stopped  the  boat  with  a  single  motion  of  his  fore- 
arm. His  white  outing  shirt  sleeves  were  rolled 
above  his  elbows;  the  hot  spring  sun  had  begun 
to  redden  his  flesh,  whitened  by  winter;  and  the 
full  purple  veins  corded  his  arms  with  a  branch- 
ing beauty.  His  ruddy  face  gleamed  in  its  rip- 
ples as  the  water  glittered  in  its  tiny  waves,  and 
its  high,  clear  modelling  showed  his  profile  aus- 
terely to  her. 

His  lips  seemed  locked  now  while  Mitchell, 
righting  himself,  spoke  again.  ' '  You  look  alone, ' ' 
he  said. 

"I  am,"  she  answered,  ''all  alone.  Where  are 
you  going?    I  want  to  go  with  you." 

Mitchell  grinned  and  pushed  the  boat  toward 
the  bank.  ' '  Come  and  take  my  place, ' '  he  urged. 
"I've  got  to  get  back  to  town  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"You  came  for  longer,"  said  Paul,  with  a 
sharpness  that  made  the  other  stare.  "You  stay," 
he  added  with  a  touch  of  roughness. 

"Ha,"  thought  Mitchell,  "he  wants  me  to  think 
he  doesn't  care.  Well,  jump  in,"  he  said  to  Ruth, 
"there's  room  for  all  of  us,  and  we'll  give  you 
a  spin  for  a  minute.  I  can  stay  ten  minutes 
longer."  He  scowled,  contemplating  his  watch. 
He  placed  Ruth  on  a  low  wicker  seat,  and  Paul 
drove  his  blade  downward.  The  boat  trembled 
with  the  stroke,  the  water  purled  from  the  prow. 

"I've  had  enough,"  said  Mitchell.  He  laid  his 
paddle  athwart  and  looked  again  at  his  watch. 
"Run  in  at  the  point,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  with 
authority.    "I  can't  stay  another  second." 

Paul  drove  ahead,  laughing  crossly.    "Let's  see 


94  MUD  HOLLOW 

you  get  away,"  he  answered,  paddling  swiftly 
through  a  lazy  bend  whose  sandy  shores  narrowed 
the  watery  lane. 

Mitchell  turned  and  glanced  at  Ruth.  His  eyes 
questioned;  hers  answered.  "Then  watch  me," 
he  continued.  "Tliis  is  the  way."  He  plunged 
his  paddle  in  and  with  all  his  strength  steered 
the  rapid  boat  head-on  to  pasture  land.  It  grated 
on  the  gravel  and  he  jumped  ankle-deep  into  the 
water  and  shoved  it  free  again.  He  laughed  with 
infinite  cunning  as  his  pleased  gaze  travelled  from 
Paul's  lowering  annoyance  to  Ruth's  swift  con- 
tent. "It's  all  right,  children,"  he  shouted  to  the 
mute  pair.  ' '  Use  me  again  when  I  can  be  of 
service. ' ' 

The  tiny  craft  dipped  dangerously  as  Paul's 
ungentle  hand  swung  it  to  the  placid  channel ;  and 
he  brought  it  to  sharply.  It  halted  and  Ruth  felt 
his  mastery  of  the  nervous  thing,  its  slight  frame 
strained  and  worried  by  his  careless  strength. 
Even  the  elements  and  the  laws  were  obedient  to 
him,  she  thought. 

Now  they  moved  on,  not  evenly,  but  with  a 
wave-like  motion  on  the  still  stream.  With  each 
stroke  of  his  arm  the  prow  dove,  then  rose,  slowed 
and  dove  again.  The  boat  had  Paul's  pulse,  she 
fancied,  and  her  own  fell  into  rhythm  with  it. 
His  life,  power  and  splendor  thrilled  her.  She 
laid  her  hand  gently  upon  its  side  with  a  mystic 
message  to  the  silent  presence  behind  her. 

"Paul,"  she  whispered. 

After  a  long  moment,  "AVell?" 

"I  am  happy,"  she  said. 

The  boat  went  on  toward  the  harsh  ridge  that 
shouldered  its  way  to  the  stream  and  hung  shelv- 
ing there.  It  confronted  them,  insolent,  uplifting. 
It  made  one  on  the  instant  very  humble  or  very 
braggart,  a  courtier  or  a  monarch. 


ON  THE  RIVER  95 

Ruth,  as  easily  as  if  she  were  on  the  lawn,  rose 
to  her  feet  and  turned  to  Paul. 

"Take  care,"  he  cried,  "do  you  want  to  tip 
us  over?" 

She  stepped  forward  and  knelt  before  him. 
"Take  me,"  she  said  in  a  sweet,  clear  voice,  and 
pressed  forward  until  their  hearts  and  lips  almost 
touched. 

With  uncontrollable  swiftness  he  laid  his  pad- 
dle down,  and  pressed  her  back  with  his  palm 
against  her  shoulder.  In  his  cold,  averted  eyes 
lurked  the  anger  she  had  seen  before,  but  now  he 
could  not  go  until  she  had  made  him  look  at  her 
with  understanding  and  appreciation!  She  gave 
him  a  wholly  unveiled,  searching  glance,  compel- 
ling, beseeching,  shameless,  from  which  his  own 
slid  and  fell. 

"Go  back  to  your  seat,  we'll  land — ^land  now," 
he  said  with  final  emphasis. 

"No,"  she  murmured.     ''Look  at  me,  Paul!" 

He  set  his  lips  together  and  half  rose  to  put  her 
from  him.  She  felt  that  strength  separating  them 
like  a  blind  unreasoning  obstacle,  and  she  flung 
herself  against  it.  She  wanted  to  tear  at  that 
dumb  automatic  antagonism  which  rose  to  baffle 
her  again.  She  gripped  and  clove  to  him  with  a 
brave  purpose,  and  while  he  thrust  her  aside  with 
averted  eyes,  her  own  anger  clashed  against  his 
baffling  advantage.  A  furious  disappointment 
rose  to  her  brain  when  she  saw  herself  safely, 
cautiously  and  inevitably  put  away  from  him; 
worsted  in  the  struggle  on  the  tiny  field!  She 
would  have  sobbed  had  not  anger  and  wit  instantly 
contrived  a  victory  that  stunned  her  with  its  bril- 
liancy. Now,  indeed,  he  should  truly  rescue  her 
from  peril  of  her  life! — she  glanced  in  delicious 
terror  toward  the  shore,  and  seemed  to  see  the 
woods  astir  with  her  skulking  tribesmen.  Across 
the  water,  she  played,  was  harbor  from  pursuers 


96  MUD  HOLLOW 

— he  must  win  it  with  her  in  his  hero  arms.  So, 
with  a  sound — half  a  laugh,  half  a  cry — she  rose, 
waited  gasping  an  instant  and  sprang  bonnily  into 
friendly  water  which  closed  smoothly  over  her 
head.  With  a  face  wiped  blank,  Paul  dove  after 
her  and  they  came  up  together  noiselessly.  With 
one  hand  he  buoyed  her  composed  body  and  with 
the  other  turned  them  both  to  the  boat. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  "don't  be  fright- 
ened, you  are  perfectly  safe. ' ' 

She  glanced  at  him  and  found  him  unrespon- 
sive to  her  presence ;  now  she  saw  the  starry  may- 
flowers  and  violets  on  the  bank  looking  down  at 
her ;  faint  barnyard  sounds  reached  them  through 
the  utter  spring  silence.  The  avenging  tribesmen 
fled  away.  She  flung  herself  upon  Paul  and  tried 
to  cling  about  his  neck,  but  with  the  instinctive 
alarm  of  a  drowning  grip  he  thrust  her  off  a 
little  roughly. 

"Don't  do  that,"  he  said. 

Ah,  how  near  the  shore!  She  unclasped  her 
hands  from  him  and  sank  like  a  shot.  When  he 
brought  her  to  the  surface,  he  clasped  her  closely 
to  his  body,  he  pinioned  her  in  an  enwrapping 
arm  and  they  moved  as  one.  She  could  not  have 
separated  herself  from  him — but  he  said  again, 
"Don't  do  that,  either!" 

Now  with  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  her  cheek 
almost  touching  his,  in  perfect  bodily  accord,  she 
forgot  the  troubling  earth  and  uncommunicative 
air  in  the  undreamed  ecstacy  in  life  of  the  new 
universe.  Every  smallest  drop  of  the  medium  in 
which  they  floated  touched  them  both,  it  flowed 
about  the  two  and  made  them  one.  Ruth  closed 
her  eyes;  the  darkness  and  the  water  that  folded 
her  and  Paul  seemed  to  tremble  with  pulses  of 
one  joy.  She  remembered  the  picture  of  Paola 
and  Francesca,  endlessly  adrift  together,  wedded 
by  the  undulations  of  space,  and  then  thought  her- 


ON  THE  RIVER  97 

self  irrevocably  Paul's,  they  alone,  their  feet  un- 
planted  from  earth  and  its  laws. 

She  was  faint  with  triumph  and  delight.  For 
the  moment  she  seemed  to  be  carried  over  a 
rapids  in  the  arms  of  her  hero.  Her  response  was 
a  dream  response,  the  climax  which  brings  a  union 
of  hero  and  maid. 

Dreamland — yes,  to  her  but  not  to  Paul.  He 
carried  her  quickly  among  the  flowers ;  her  pallor 
alarmed  him.  When  she  felt  herself  parting  from 
him  she  clasped  her  hands  about  his  throat  and 
pressed  her  wet  face  to  his,  so  that  the  water 
from  his  drenched  hair  dripped  upon  her  neck. 
She  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  a  gust  of  abhorrence 
in  his.  She  met  it  as  she  would  have  received  a 
lash.  She  faced  him  with  hauteur.  A  chill  breeze 
disconcerted  the  starry  flowers  and  pierced  the 
thin  clothes  that  clung  to  the  two  tense  bodies. 
They  were  aware  of  nothing  but  deadly  con- 
test; they  shivered  not  with  cold  but  the  dim 
knowledge  that  a  grim  battle  had  begun,  not 
theirs,  not  a  volition,  but  the  blind,  mindless  crash 
of  monstrous  unaging  powers.  A  blank  disgust,  a 
well-nigh  visible  hate  baffled  and  angered  her  for 
a  long  moment. 

Then  she  saw  his  eyes — ^with  an  attention  he 
had  never  given  her  before — fix  themselves  upon 
her  face,  her  shoulders,  her  whole  revealed  form. 
She  hung  on  that  first  expression  of  seeing.  Oh, 
was  he  not  recognizing  her?  She  feared  to  move 
lest  she  disturb  that  searching,  absorbed,  slow 
gaze  that  meant,  she  knew,  a  thought  of  her.  But 
his  lips  curled  and  his  brows  were  drawn  together. 

''What  made  you  act  like  a "  he  started 

with  violence,  but  he  could  not  finish. 

''I  did  it  because — ah,  you  know  why,  Paul, 
because " 

''Why  don't  you  cover  up?  You  should  be 
ashamed — ashamed "  he  burst  out  cruelly. 


98  MUD  HOLLOW 

This  repulse  brought  her  to  herself  but  did  not 
eradicate  the  dream  elements  in  her  thought. 
Here  were  a  river,  a  forest,  a  glassy  plot  on  the 
border  of  which  wild  cherries  were  in  blossom. 
What  can  favor  primitive  dreams  more  than  a 
sunny  nook  by  a  river,  in  springtime?  In  re- 
sponse to  her  vision  she  sprang  up,  shook  the  wet 
from  her  hair  and  laughed. 

''Let's  run  a  race  while  our  clothes  dry,"  she 
cried.  Her  wet  clothes  clung  to  her  body  so  tight- 
ly that  every  womanly  feature  stood  out  as  if  she 
had  been  a  marble  statue.  Twisted  branches  of 
wild  cherry  hung  about  her  waist  and  from  them 
an  apron  of  mingled  fern  and  rhododendron 
leaves  descended  to  her  knees.  Her  shoulders 
were  bare  save  as  hid  by  her  tresses.  No  modern 
restraints  held  her  in.  She  did  what  nature  dic- 
tated, acting  through  the  throbs  of  a  primitive 
environment  projected  into  a  modern  situation. 

While  she  forgot  the  world  and  lived  again  the 
life  of  a  thousand  generations  ago,  the  man  stood 
immovable.  He  saw  the  transformation,  but  he 
did  not  comprehend  its  meaning.  Was  it  degen- 
eration? Was  it  depravity?  Was  it  a  reversion? 
Paul  knew  woman  only  from  books  which  do  not 
deal  with  her  moods.  They  are  pictures  on  the 
wall,  plaster  casts,  w^hich  never  alter.  From  these 
to  the  reality  Paul's  slow  thought  could  not  go. 
He  had  a  thousand  and  one  rules  of  conduct  past- 
ed on  the  walls  of  his  room  but  none  of  them  told 
what  to  do  when  a  primitive  woman  is  met  in  a 
cosy  nook  V^  the  river. 

' '  Now  for  a  race, ' '  she  cried.  Putting  her  foot 
beside  his  she  cried,  "Read}^  start."  Off  she  flew 
but  she  was  soon  aware  that  she  ran  alone.  She 
came  back  to  the  sphinx,  took  his  hand  and 
reached  up  as  if  to  kiss  him.  Rudely  he  shook 
her  off.  But  her  play  mood  was  too  active  to  be 
controlled.    The  sun,  the  river  and  the  wood  car- 


ON  THE  EIVER  99 

ried  her  back  to  days  before  the  cramp  of  con- 
vention was  felt.  Her  heart  beat  high,  the  lust  of 
life  and  beauty,  the  splendor  of  the  battle  which 
had  begun  she  knew  not  wlicn  and  led  she  knew 
not  whither,  would  end  she  cared  not  how,  all 
possessed  her  spirit  as  the  water  had  possessed 
her  body — like  a  super-earthly  joy,  a  tenderness 
that  transcended  thought,  a  caress  for  which 
there  could  be  no  other  expression.  She  had  be- 
gun to  live  the  hazardous  life  of  the  sex  painted 
in  her  father's  library,  for  tbatp  afternoon  she  set 
her  feet  upon  the  bleeding  path  where  she  would 
find  herself  a  woman.  She  rested  gayly  in  the 
hot  sun  and  her  hair  curled  and  fluffed  afresh 
about  her  forehead.  The  tiniest  tendrils  blew 
across  her  eyes  as  she  thrust  them  back.  Then 
she  brushed  with  the  lightest  hand  the  open  starry 
faces  of  the  mayflowers  by  which  she  sat. 

Stroking  them  tenderly,  she  looked  up  at  Paul 
hoping  that  he  would  come.  Seeing  him  turn  to- 
ward the  boat,  she  asked,  "Where  are  you  2:0- 
ingr'  ^ 

''Home,"  was  his  only  word,  as  he  gathered  the 
paddles  and  arranged  the  seat  for  Euth.  ''Get 
in." 

' '  No, ' '  she  answered.  ' '  I  want  to  stay  here  and 
get  dry  in  the  sun.  It  is  so  warm  and  lovely; 
let's  live  for  an  hour  as  children  of  the  wood." 

Her  mood  was  that  of  the  birds,  and  the  lambs 
in  springtime.  They  sing  and  play  when  the  sun 
smiles,  why  should  not  she?  She  danced,  she  ran, 
she  turned  somersaults  and,  using  a  low  branch  of 
a  tree  as  a  trapeze,  she  tried  all  the  stunts  which 
had  much  irritated  Mrs.  Dickson  and  her  chilly 
cohorts.  Then  she  skipped  about  Paul,  blew  dan- 
delion feathers  in  his  face,  tried  to  decorate  him 
with  flowers.  Every  primitive  art  was  tried 
to  break  the  rock  which  kept  him  silent — and  in 
vain.     She  was  free  to  let  impulse  play  as  it 


100  MUD  HOLLOW 

would.  Light,  warmth  and  color  brought  their 
proper  response.  But  he  was  chained.  Conven- 
tion, tradition,  custom  had  him  in  their  grip.  He 
could  see  today  and  live  for  tomorrow,  but  yester- 
day was  a  sealed  book.  Had  some  sudden  danger 
faced  them,  had  a  tribe  of  savages  burst  through 
the  wood,  his  response  would  have  been  the  right 
one.  Defender  of  woman  he  was.  He  was  earn- 
ing the  title  his  mother  gave  him.  But  to  forget 
himself  in  momentary  joys,  to  be  ruled  by  nature 
and  not  by  morals 

He  finally  broke  silence  by  saying,  ''Come, 
Ruth,  we  must  go.    The  sun  is  getting  low." 

''So  much  the  better,"  she  replied.  "Oh,  for 
a  night  in  the  woods !  Here  is  a  shady  nook  where 
we  can  sleep. ' ' 

' '  Nonsense, ' '  he  replied, ' '  we  must  get  into  dry 
clothes. ' ' 

"My  clothes  are  dry,"  she  affirmed,  "feel  of  my 
skirt."  She  tried  to  put  his  hand  on  it  but  he 
pulled  away. 

When  he  started  for  the  boat  she  got  in  his 
way.  He  turned  aside  and  sat  on  the  bank,  at 
loss  what  to  do  next.  Had  Paul  been  more  primi- 
tive he  would  have  seized  Ruth.  But  Paul  could 
not  lay  hands  on  Ruth.  All  his  precepts  forbade. 
He  might  defend  but  he  could  not  punish.  Neither 
could  he  accept. 

She  and  nature  were  one ;  he  and  the  rock,  twin 
brothers.  Nature  changes;  it  is  gay  and  somber 
by  turn.  The  rock  is  unalterable.  Only  as  the 
moss  hides  its  ugliness  does  it  alter  its  mood. 
Heat  never  enters ;  cold  does  not  chill.  Rain  may 
wear  furrows  but  the  newly  exposed  is  as  lifeless 
as  was  the  older  shale.  And  still  within,  beneath, 
the  hardest  rock  there  is  internal  fire.  Some  time 
it  was  a  world  ablaze.  Its  crust  has  grown  strong 
but  now  and  then  its  fire  breaks  through,  pouring 
lava  over  all  about. 


ON  THE  RIVER  101 

So  was  Paul.  Hotter  fires  were  never  banked 
but  they  had  not  mode  of  expression.  His  will 
Avas  like  a  great  frost  that  congeals  as  it  molds. 
The  outer  and  the  inner  were  separated  by  an 
impassable  gulf.  So  dissimilar  were  they  that  he 
did  not  recognize  the  inner  as  a  part  of  himself, 
nor  even  had  names  to  give  to  his  moods.  Words 
that  once  were  applied  to  these  inner  promptings 
were  now  used  in  a  meaningless  way  to  denote 
moral  suppressions.  The  poison  that  hardened 
seemed  to  be  the  medicine  that  cured.  Soul  cold- 
ness was  virtue,  soul  warmth  a  device  to  lead 
astray.  Such  was  Paul  as  he  brothered  the  rock 
and  felt  a  kinship  for  its  immobile  expression. 

Not  so  with  Ruth.  Her  fire  was  on  the  surface. 
Between  heart,  cheek,  look  and  expression  there 
was  no  gulf.  No  frozen  surface  kept  the  internal 
from  gaining  an  outlet.  What  she  felt  she  did. 
Her  soul  like  that  of  nature  was  an  open  book 
that  all  may  read.  Nature  laughs  and  smiles  even 
if  she  sometimes  groans.  We  have  but  to  raise 
our  window  in  the  morning  to  know  whether  frost 
or  heat  dominates.  The  flower,  the  grass  and  the 
leaves  glow  in  the  sun  and  wilt  in  the  shade.  Why 
should  not  a  girl  be  as  expressive  as  they?  Per- 
haps, but  the  chill  of  many  ages  says  no.  Which 
should  guide,  nature  in  her  unfolding,  or  the  echo 
of  a  thousand  repressions? 

At  length  Ruth  tired  of  her  exercise,  threw  her- 
self on  the  grass  beside  him.  "Why  will  you  not 
play,  Paul?"  she  cried.  ''The  trees  and  the  flow- 
ers laugh  in  the  sunshine,  why  should  not  we?" 

She  could  not  understand  his  mood.  Wliy  had 
he  not  done  what  in  dreams  her  hero  had  ever 
done?  She  saw  his  stern  look,  his  tightly  drawn 
muscles,  but  of  the  internal  conflict  she  had  no 
inkling.  She  thus  became  more  conscious  of  the 
difference  between  man  and  woman.    Accepting 


102  MUD  HOLLOW 

her  father's  philosophy,  she  expected  that  growth 
would  finally  bring  her  into  a  man 's  estate. 

As  she  looked  at  her  suileu  hero  a  doubt  of  this 
came  up  from  her  unconscious  self  and  started 
a  new  train  of  thought.  She  put  her  bare  foot 
beside  his,  passing  her  hand  over  her  soft  leg 
muscle  and  touching  his  leg  to  feel  the  difference. 
As  her  curiosity  became  more  intense  she  passed 
her  hand  from  her  supple  frame  to  his,  saying 
demurely,  ' '  Why  are  you  different  from  me  f ' ' 

Paul  gave  a  start.  The  internal  flame  which 
his  stern  jaw  repressed  came  for  a  moment  to 
the  surface  and  lit  his  eye.  His  face  paled  and 
flushed  in  turn.  Paul  was  moral  but  he  was  flesh. 
It  is  one  thing  sitting  in  a  chamber  to  decide 
moral  questions ;  it  is  quite  another  to  have  a  girl 
throw  herself  before  him.  There  was  a  flush  on 
his  cheek  and  a  flutter  in  his  heart.  He  felt  him- 
self on  a  yawning  precipice  with  the  ground  slip- 
ping from  under  him.  Suddenly  he  sprang  to  his 
feet ;  with  a  wild  cry  he  ran  down  to  the  boat  and 
jjaddled  away. 

It  was  his  mother  he  saw.  It  was  her  call  he 
obeyed.    It  was  she  who  took  him  out  of  danger. 

Ruth  watched  the  boat  disappear  and  then  she 
felt  lonely.  Why  had  he  left  so  suddenly?  Why 
had  he  not  taken  her  with  him?  She  knew  she 
had  lost  but  she  tried  to  console  herself  by  a 
new  series  of  games.  She  danced,  she  ran,  she 
sang — ^but  nothing  pleased  her.  The  driving  mo- 
tive to  make  a  hero  yield  to  her  charms  was  gone 
and  with  it  her  zeal' for  display.  She  threw  her- 
self angrily  on  the  grass,  tore  her  flowered  orna- 
ments from  her  body,  kicked  them  away  as  if  they 
were  the  cause  of  her  failure.  She  cried,  then 
she  slept.  Nature  smiled  at  seeing  her  beauty 
reflected  in  human  form.  What  was  Ruth  but  tho 
essence  of  all  that  had  gone  before?  In  hor  all 
elements  blended.     Each  recognized  the  kinship. 


CROSS  CURRENTS  103 

The  winds  fanned  her  cheek,  the  brook  sang  its 
lullaby.  The  rocks  shook  off  their  somber  hue 
as  the  clouds  assumed  a  color  to  match  the  set- 
ting sun. 

A  kindly  oak  cast  a  deep  shadow  to  dim  what 
Morality  would  surely  have  seen.  Curious,  is  it 
not!  Nature  and  Morality — twin  sisters — yet 
with  such  different  views  of  girl.  "Beauty  and 
excellence,"  saith  one.  *' Depravity,"  saith  the 
other.  AVhere  high  authorities  differ,  evolution  is 
the  only  test;  her  decision  all  must  abide. 


XII 

Cross  Currents 

Well  behind  his  punctual  hour,  Paul  came  that 
night  and  would  have  hastened  past  the  Pro- 
fessor rocking  in  the  balmy  darkness  of  the  porch. 

"Let  us  delay  a  moment,"  said  his  gentle  voice, 
touched  with  the  mid-century  literary  tone  with 
which  he  emerged  from  fervid  reverie.  "You  go 
striding  with  such  eagerness  that  I  am  almost 
chagrined  to  confess  how  filled  with  content  I  am. 
Be  seated,  Paul.  I  had  almost  ceased  to  expect 
you  tonight." 

The  young  man  dropped  into  a  willow  chair 
which  creaked  under  the  sudden,  falling  weight. 
"I  thought  I'd  get  back  in  time,"  he  vouchsafed. 
*  *  I  went  farther  than  I  expected. ' ' 

"Went  farther?"  the  other  repeated  with  his 
unfailing  habit  of  interest  in  the  least  detail  of 
his  boys '  lives. 

"I  am  just  back  from  Lord's,"  striking  his 
hands  together  lightly  in  laughing  protest. 

"Oh,  youth,  youth,  and  the  lust  of  living!"  he 
cried.  "Ten  miles!  and  still  on  fire  with  the  en- 
ergy of  this  young  year — and  your  young  mind — 


104  MUD  HOLLOW 

and  heart — and  soul — "  he  added  with  a  rising 
cadence  of  joyous  excitement.  "Am  I  growing 
old?"  he  asked  him,  whimsically. 

''No,  no." 

"Ah,  good!  thank  you.  I  feared  it,  for  here  I 
sit  basking  until  brushed  by  the  breeze  of  your 
passing  and  the  song  that  bursts  from  your  com- 
panion in  happiness.  W,here  is  she?"  He  peered 
through  the  lacy  vines  to  the  lawn.  "I  remember, 
some  one  called  her.  She  has  not  been  still  ah 
instant  since  the  sun  began  to  set.  I  have  watched 
her  dancing  in  and  out,  and  she  flitted  from  my 
knee  to  execute  a  froUicking  song  at  the  piano. 
She  is  more  elusive — more  loving  than  I  remem- 
ber to  have  ever  seen  her  before.  What  is  the 
date?" 

"The  tenth,"  Paul  said. 

"I  will  write  in  my  notebook,  tonight,  that  her 
intellect  exalts  and  grows  apace  with  her  perfect 
health  and  happiness.  After  all  her  flitting  and 
mirth  this  evening,  a  sudden  silence  attracted  me. 
On  looking  about,  I  espied  her  in  a  white  dress 
beneath  her  favorite  tree  in  that  superb  attitude 
of  the  Eeading  Magdalen.  So  wrapt  was  she  that 
she  did  not  hear  my  steps ;  I  looked  at  her  volume 
before  she  was  aware  of  me.  What  do  you  think 
has  transfixed  her  mind!  Nothing  less  epic  and 
less  alien  to  the  spirit  of  the  hour  than  the  san- 
guinary passage  in  Homer.  The  natural  and  un- 
biased desires  of  self-betterment  have  inevitably 
risen  in  her  brain  now. 

"My  notebooks  on  her  educational  expansion 
show  the  most  gratifying  progress.  They  eluci- 
date and  more,  I  maintain — they  estahlisJi  certain 
educational  principles.  I  fear  wo  have  not  time 
to  go  into  them  tonight  as  I  should  be  exceedingly 

pleased  to  do "  he  looked  hopefullj^  at  Paul, 

his  smoldering  eyes  blazing  up  from  the  core 
of  his  existence. 


CROSS  CURRENTS  105 

*  *  To  be  very  brief, ' '  the  gentleness  of  his  voice 
lost  in  its  depths  and  strength,  "her  unhurried 
choice  to  learn  and  her  untrammelled  range  of 
subjects  have  resulted  in  substantiating  every  one 
of  my  arguments.  She  responds  to  the  great  in- 
terests of  all  mankind.  Her  subjects  are  those 
which  men  enjoy.  I  found  her  studying  Mill's 
*  Logic'  a  week  ago,  and  was  amazed  at  the  celerity 
with  which  she  turned  the  leaves.  I  asked  her  if 
she  liked  it.  'I  simply  love  it,  papa,'  she  said, 
enthusiastically.  There  spoke  the  essential  mind 
of  the  free  and  unwarped  woman !  Paul,  I  could 
be  humbled  if  I  were  not  uplifted  by  impregnable, 
conquering  youth  beside  me.  How  great  is  your 
heart!  But  how  can  you  understand!  I  suspect 
you  cannot.  Suffice  it  then  to  conclude :  my  belief 
in  our  book,  my  pleasure  in  its  growth,  are  strong 
tonight;  the  world  is  ready  for  us.  On  the  one 
hand,  a  young  woman,  unled,  feeding  on  Homer — 
on  the  other,  the  young  man  and  the  sound  of  his 
feet  rushing  in  the  wind  of  his  own  eagerness. 
The  harvest  ripens  on  the  hillsides  of  the  Lord 
and  I  may  draw  aside  to  rest. 

*'I  might  if  I  would,"  his  voice  broke,  sur- 
charged with  emotion.  ' '  If  I  w^ould  but  I  will  not. 
Activity  is  too  absorbing.    Paul,  let's  to  work." 

The  three  sat  at  the  same  table,  enjoyed  the 
same  shelter,  thought  they  loved  each  other- 
yet  the  three  were  as  far  apart  as  Siberia  from 
Java.  On  they  moved,  each  in  his  own  world; 
good  worlds  but  worlds  that  did  not  match.  Ruth 
wanted  so  much  to  be  a  partner  in  the  great  enter- 
prise coming  to  its  fruition  in  that  study.  Had 
the  men  taken  her  in,  given  her  something  to  do, 
made  her  feel  that  she  was  one  with  them,  she 
would  have  played  a  humble  part,  been  a  helpful 
co-worker  and  waited  Avithout  thought  for  Time 
to  carry  them  to  their  destined  goal.  She  was  a 
bird,  a  plumed  bird,  alive  to  the  present  with  no 


106  MUD  HOLLOW 

thought  of  the  morrow.  Did  she  drop  from  Paul's 
level,  the  men  were  to  blame.  They  forced  her 
into  an  untried  world  which  might  lead  anywhere 
— a  road  most  girls  take  but  which  after  all  is 
foreign  to  their  nature. 

When  the  yearning  girl  came  his  way,  Paul 
rebuked  her  as  temptation.  When  she  sought 
her  father  he  fondled  her  as  a  six-year  old.  Un- 
conscious and  well-meaning,  he  was  blind  to  the 
effects  which  his  own  philosophy  had  wrought. 
Looking  at  her  he  saw  Ida's  eyes,  Ida's  hair,  Ida's 
smile;  and  thought  the  girl  would  blossom  to 
another  Ida.  She  was  to  become  a  clinging  vine 
like  her  mother,  when  in  reality — standing  firmly 
on  her  own  feet — she  was  being  transformed  into 
an  oak;  not  so  big  an  oak  as  Paul  but  with  the 
same  motives,  interests  and  manner  of  approach. 

The  Professor  waited  on  Ida,  Ruth  waited  on 
him.  He  brought  Ida's  shawl;  Ruth  brought  his 
slippers.  Ida  sat  by  the  fire,  reflecting  to  the  Pro- 
fessor what  he  gave,  merely  a  looking-glass  throw- 
ing back  what  the  gazer  put  in  it.  Ruth  was  free 
from  the  traditions  which  bound  Ida,  made  active 
by  a  health  which  Ida  never  enjoyed. 

During  the  sultry  August  the  three  lives  were 
conditioned  as  Paul  and  the  Professor  would  have 
them.  Ruth  drew  aside  with  a  gallant  cheerful- 
ness for  the  paramount  woman  of  pure  theory. 
While  they  wrote  she  hung  over  a  kitchen  cook- 
book or  cooled  her  white  arms,  tingling  from  the 
dry  heat  of  the  oven,  beneath  the  cold  water  from 
the  faucet.  Her  hair  curled  smartly  on  her  brow, 
her  lips  were  red,  her  cheeks  bloomed  duskily,  her 
dark  eyes  brilliantly  swept  her  field;  the  critical 
moment,  by  book  and  clock,  had  come  for  the  bis- 
cuit in  the  oven. 

In  her  new  sphere  she  aimed  at  Paul 's  womanly 
ideal  so  nearly  as  his  scant  description  of  his 
mother  would  permit.    Poor  Ruth  had  never  pic- 


CROSS  CURRENTS  107 

tured  her  in  any  other  than  the  qualitative  way; 
her  quick  perceptions  had  missed  the  very  crux  of 
Paul's  stiff,  narrow  measure  of  the  beautiful.  If 
she  could  have  concealed  the  opulent  lines  and 
curves  of  her  honest,  supple  body,  as  the  thin, 
straight  figure  of  the  mother  concealed  itself 
within  shapeless  garments,  Paul  in  time  could 
have  endued  her  with  the  qualities  of  those  clothes. 
He  neither  feared  nor  was  disturbed  by  the  woman 
of  that  kind.  Ruth  saw  the  type  in  Bovx'man  from 
her  own  unique  angle;  it  was  the  older,  faded 
faculty  woman,  the  middle-aged,  iron-gray  per- 
sons upon  whom  she  never  bestowed  a  thought  or 
question.  Yet,  Paul's  mother  was  the  woman  he 
admired.  When  she  first  stepped  from  her  own 
path  to  walk  in  his,  she  noted  shrewdly  how  often 
this  scornful  arraigner  of  those  who  lauded  her 
bread  spoke  of  her  cake  and  pie. 

One  lonely  evening  when  the  palms  of  her  hands 
smarted  with  oven  heat,  she  waited  with  a  sinking- 
heart  for  the  men  to  note  the  juicy  virtues  of  her 
steak.  Alas,  when  old  Mammy  removed  it,  the 
two  were  harking  back  up  the  ripe  conundrum 
about  the  relation  of  economics  to  sociology.  She 
was  lost  in  the  polemic — her  triumph  was  unob- 
served. Wihen  the  door  swung  upon  her  vanished 
proof,  she  burst  into  tears.  The  quick,  sharp  sobs 
effectually  centered  their  attention  upon  her,  and 
Paul  jumped  with  an  expression  of  solicitude. 

''Why,  daughter,  what  is  it?"  her  father  asked, 
bending  over  her  chair. 

"Did  you  hurt  yourself?"  Paul  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  sobbed.  "I  burned  my  hands  over 
that  old  steak  and  I  want  to  go  upstairs." 

Her  father  laid  her  palm  against  his  cheek. 

"And  you  never  mentioned  it,"  said  Paul,  his 
stiffness  gone  in  the  necessity  of  sympathy  in 
physical  disaster. 


108  MUD  HOLLOW 

*'And  you  never  said  a  word  about  the  steak, '^ 
she  retorted  with  an  access  of  anger. 

*'My  dear,"  her  father  cried,  "I  can  hardy  be- 
lieve you  broiled  it!  Did  you  truly?  It  was  deli- 
cious, eh,  Paul?" 

''I  never  ate  a  better.  Can't  I  get  something 
for  your  hand?    A  lotion  or  cold  cream?" 

She  dried  her  eyes.  "It  doesn't  hurt  so  much, 
now.  I'll  stay  here,  I  think.  Please  bring  me 
the  witch  hazel  from  the  shelf,  Paul. ' ' 

He  hurried  for  it  and  returned  in  a  trice,  pour- 
ing a  drop  into  the  cup  of  her  pink  palms.  He 
would  not  let  her  bruise  them  upon  the  handle 
of  the  coffee  urn,  but  served  the  beverage  while 
her  father  attended  to  the  berries.  The  priority 
of  the  social  sciences  no  longer  occupying  them, 
she  played  with  her  new-found  force,  Deception, 
with  such  skill  and  intuitive  knowledge  of  the 
instrument  that  Paul  for  two  hours  was  almost 
the  Paul  of  the  playmate  days,  before  fearing  her. 
He  judged  her  a  revert  of  some  early  epoch,  as 
innocent  perhaps  as  some  ancestress  naked  and 
dripping  on  a  sunny,  southern  shore,  plunging 
her  gleaming  body  into  tropic  waters.  His  broad 
and  simple  nature  welcomed  her  subterfuge  for 
sympathy  and  attention.  Yet  after  the  first  relief 
given  by  the  burst  of  indignant  tears  and  trivial 
lies,  Paul  was  stirred  by  a  vanishing  hint  of  an 
encompassing,  nameless  threat,  a  lurking  cosmic 
Danger.  When  the  girl's  happy  eyes  told  him 
that  the  eclipse  of  her  gaiety  had  passed,  he  suf- 
fered a  premonition  that  thej''  were  involved  in  a 
sorrow  they  could  not  avert,  coming  from  condi- 
tions beyond  their  reach.  Her  wistful  smiles  drew 
him  into  the  vortex  of  her  charm;  she  called  to 
his  sentiment'  and  before  he  was  braced  to  repel 
it  the  thought  of  her  in  his  arms — running  a  pol- 
luting fire  through  his  veins — weakened  for  an 
instant  the  whole  big  frame.    He  met  it  in  dejec- 


CROSS  CURRENTS  109 

tion — the  stern  happiness  of  holding  at  bay  his 
carnal  temptations  was  gone.  It  was  a  treadmill 
to  him  on  which  he  must  run  endlessly  even  to 
preserve  life. 

**What  an  awful  hold  this  thing  has  on  me," 
he  muttered,  "there's  too  much  blood  in  me.  I 
must  work  this  taint  out  of  my  muscles."  He 
leaped  and  ran  as  if  he  were  testing  a  candidate — 
falling  to  a  walk,  he  would  hear  Ruth's  voice  or 
a  movement  of  the  bushes  that  at  length  made 
him  jump  with  a  superstitious  terror.  Then  with 
a  slow,  hard  brutality — ^blind  to  the  consequences 
if  he  might  team  away  the  demon  that  fattened  on 
him — he  rushed  panting,  his  pulses  a-hammer,  un- 
til white  and  faint  he  threw  himself  down  with  face 
in  the  ferns.  Thus  went  on  the  struggle  from  day 
to  day,  from  week  to  week.  A  phantom  Ruth  in 
the  wood,  a  real  Ruth  in  the  home.  Which  was 
the  worse  he  could  not  tell — in  fact  he  never  was 
sure  with  which  he  was  dealing.  He  ran  from 
her  or  struck  back  at  her  as  his  fitful  mood  de- 
termined. Great  ideals  make  men  stern,  fierce, 
even  brutal  toward  any  encountered  obstacle. 
Whatever  obtrudes  must  be  crushed  regardless  of 
consequences.  In  this  mood  he  threw  stones  at 
the  phantom  Ruth  and  dodged  when  the  real  Ruth 
appeared. 

She  in  turn  tired  of  waiting,  pressed  forward 
like  a  shy  animal  hungry  on  a  trail  to  her  thrilling 
part  in  life.  When  they  were  not  together  for 
many  hours,  she  feared  nothing  would  ever  hap- 
pen again  in  this  stationary  globe.  So  her  eyes 
blazed  with  a  swift  excitement  one  dusky  evening 
when  she  saw  Paul  seat  himself  upon  the  piazza 
until  Dr.  Dickson  should  leave  the  study.  Coming 
straight  to  him,  she  stopped  when  her  dress 
pressed  against  his  knee.  His  eyes  came  to  her 
with  such  a  look  that  she  knew  she  must  act  with- 
out   parley;    leaning    forward    half    across    his 


110  MUD  HOLLOW 

breast,  she  kissed  him  full  and  long  on  his  unready 
lips.  A  deathly  languor  overspread  his  face. 
Quicker  even  than  was  his  wont  he  warded  her 
off  with  a  rude  push  that  made  her  stagger  against 
the  low  railing.  The  cruel  deed  had  nothing  back 
of  it  but  a  blind  resistance  to  an  unwelcome  fate. 
So  acted  his  forbears — prophets,  priests  and  mor- 
alists; so  did  Paul.  What  is  a  woman's  pain  to  a 
man's  composure? 

That  night  Ruth  stood  before  the  glass,  helping 
it  bring  out  her  good  qualities.  The  more  she 
looked  the  more  she  became  convinced  that  she 
was  pretty;  if  Paul  should  really  see  her  he  would 
appreciate  her  beauty.  Wliile  so  sure  she  was 
right  and  never  doubting  beauty's  power,  defeat 
made  her  humble.  Paul  came  and  went  as  before 
but  she  no  longer  lay  on  the  rug  watching  the 
struggle  for  words  that  brought  out  his  char- 
acteristics. It  was  grand  to  see  him  contend 
for  a  new  expression.  His  great  frame  shook 
with  every  wrong;  his  eye  flashed  with  any  new 
indication  of  man's  depravity;  when  he  appre- 
hended some  new  onslaught  of  the  enemy  he 
braced  his  foot  as  if  he  were  to  meet  the  Penn- 
sylvania team. 

Unconscious  of  this  byplay  the  Professor  was 
happy.  His  pamphlets  shone  with  greater  lustre 
when  revised  by  Paul.  The  day  seemed  at  hand 
when  the  world  would  have  the  truth  in  a  convinc- 
ing form.  The  two  made  a  good  team,  their  vir- 
tues and  their  defects  matched.  So  long  as  the 
material  was  used  their  agreement  was  perfect. 
There  were  no  words  too  strong,  no  picture  of 
woman's  misery  which  they  were  not  willing  to 
frame  and  exploit.  Yet  the  ideals  of  the  two  men 
were  radically  different.  Despite  Paul's  respect 
for  the  Professor  and  his  love  of  Ruth,  despite 
their  intimacy  and  daily  communion,  they  had 
never  got  beyond  the  threshold  of  the  woman 


CROSS  CURRENTS  111 

problem  nor  into  fields  where  their  differences 
shone.  Sooner  or  later  this  was  bound  to  happen. 
At  length  rhetoric  and  description  must  end; 
then  the  two  goals  and  the  two  types  of  woman 
adoration  would  come  to  the  fore. 

Paul  saw  Mother.  Girls  and  beauty  played  no 
part  in  his  vision.  Virtue,  work  and  sacrifice 
were  his  ideals.  That  over-work  might  harm — 
that  the  hard  faces  of  tired  mothers  represented 
defeat,  not  progress — that  millions  go  down  under 
a  load  which  heredity  has  not  prepared  them  to 
carry — these  doctrines  which  he  heard  the  Pro- 
fessor enunciate  were  perhaps  accepted  but  not 
assimilated.  Work  to  him  was  joy.  His  fresh, 
round  muscles  responded  without  a  murmur.  Why 
should  it  not  be  so  with  woman  as  well  as  man? 

To  the  Professor  Ida  was  always  foremost — an 
Ida  whose  picture  showed  a  woman  who  had  never 
suffered  hardship.  Her  hands  were  small  and 
white,  her  arms  were  too  slight  to  be  muscular,  her 
face  had  no  scars,  her  cheek  did  not  bear  the  fur- 
rows of  age ;  her  smile,  not  her  daily  toil,  paid  the 
Professor  for  his  efforts.  Tliis  did  not  mean  that 
Ida  was  a  woman  who  never  recompensed  deeds 
in  kind.  She  did  as  much  for  the  Professor  as 
he  did  for  her.  But  all  was  so  nicely  arranged, 
forethought  had  done  so  much,  the  household  ad- 
justments were  so  complete,  that  joy  reigned  from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

The  Professor  saw  only  the  glory  of  life ;  Paul 
saw  the  mechanism  by  which  it  was  ennobled. 
Food  is  the  great  original  problem  to  v/hich  in 
primitive  life  all  must  bend.  But  food  means 
work — work  for  all — man,  woman  and  child  alike, 
at  least  theoretically.  Out  of  this  need  all  insti- 
tutions grew.  Progress  is  only  new  forms  of  the 
division  of  labor.  Yes,  labor  differs  but  yet  it  is 
always  labor ;  and  to  labor  all  transformations  in 
the  human  frame  are  due.    Bone  and  muscle  meas- 


112  MUD  HOLLOW 

ure  the  progress  of  women  as  of  men — not  their 
soft  cheeks  and  slender  hands.  Take  away  work 
and  women  become  mere  playthings,  not  comrades 
and  co-workers.  The  race  has  gone  up  from  toil 
to  leisure,  from  starvation  to  plenty,  from  help 
lessness  to  world  control,  from  an  age  of  bare- 
handed struggle  to  that  of  tool  and  machine.  Men 
live  to  work,  not  work  to  live.  Such  was  Paul's 
interpretation  of  history.  It  was  the  lesson  of 
his  readings. 

Of  such  books  the  Professor  read  little.  Even 
the  preface  was  too  much  for  him.  He  liked  to 
ponder  on  the  golden  age  which  all  poets  see. 
Evolution  had  never  deprived  him  of  his  Garden 
of  Eden  where  all  is  joy.  Work  was  a  penalty 
not  an  agent  in  world  advance.  The  first  law 
was  to  eat,  drink  and  be  happy — not  that  the 
sweat  of  the  brow  is  the  source  of  daily  bread. 
He  might  not  say  that  tools  were  useless  imple- 
ments and  wheat-fields  a  mar  on  nature  except 
for  their  color.  He  was  too  far  along  for  such  a 
tirade  against  modern  invention,  but  in  his  vision 
there  were  no  tools  nor  economic  contrivances. 
Everytliing  was  just  as  nature  made  it.  The 
fruits  of  the  field  came  in  their  season  because  at 
that  moment  they  filled  into  nature 's  scheme.  Li 
such  a  world  woman  was  not  a  handmaid  fitting 
into  utilitarian  schemes,  but  the  crowning  piece 
of  God's  handiwork.  "Woman  is  God's  last  and 
best  product,"  was  his  familiar  cry.  Man  was 
made  from  the  dust  but  woman  came  from  above. 
This  crowning  crown  of  the  universe  should 
never  be  degraded,  never  turned  into  a  machine, 
never  made  the  servant  of  man's  interests. 
Woman's  degradation  is  world  degradation. 
Woman's  beauty  is  world  beauty.  Mar  it  at  your 
peril. 

So  thought  the  Professor.  All  went  well  until 
Paul  began  to  write  the  chapter  on  primitive 


CROSS  CURRENTS  113 

woman.  The  two  sat  at  the  Professor's  fireside 
when  Paul  read  the  product  of  his  toil.  He  had 
scarcely  begun  before  the  Professor  jumped  up, 
paced  the  room,  threw  his  hand  about  violently. 
Finally  he  interrupted,  stamping  his  foot  to  make 
the  words  emphatic.  He  cried,  "That's  nonsense, 
Paul,  utter  nonsense.  W,here  did  you  get  that 
stuff?" 

*'Out  of  your  library,"  Paul  replied,  putting 
before  the  Professor  a  dozen  volumes  which  he 
had  himself  bought. 

The  Professor  looked  at  Paul's  material, 
thumbed  it  carelessly  and  then  broke  forth. 
**  Nothing  could  make  that  stuff  fact.  That  is  not 
the  way  nature  works.  She  gets  ready  before 
she  does  anything;  the  parts  fit  together  so  nice- 
ly that  beauty  results.  You  would  make  a  botch 
of  the  whole  universe.  Did  man  make  the  fruits 
of  the  field  or  were  they  ready  for  him  when  he 
arrived?  Men  cut  trees,  men  make  filth — ^but  no 
man  has  yet  made  a  rose.  Oh,  those  dreadful 
tools,  those  huge  factories,  those  smoky  cities — 
those  are  the  product  of  work,  the  result  of  pre- 
sumption, men  trying  to  improve  nature.  Down 
the  world  goes  every  time  men  try  to  improve  it. 
The  more  they  work  the  lower  they  sink.  No, 
give  woman  clean  hands  and  a  pretty  face  right 
from  the  start.  Her  first  day  was  her  best  day: 
fresh  from  God's  hands,  she  was  the  embodiment 
of  all  the  stored-up  beauty  of  the  ages.  God 
made  the  lilies  not  to  work  but  to  be  looked  at. 
He  made  woman  not  to  hoe  in  the  garden  but  to 
inspire  noble  deeds.  Don't  talk  of  work,  Paul, 
as  though  work  were  God.  It's  penalty,  tyranny, 
degeneration !  The  fire  is  the  only  place  for  that 
chapter. ' ' 

He  reached  over  as  though  he  would  execute 
his  threat  but  Paul  put  his  hand  firmly  on  the 
manuscript.     The  Professor  tried  to  smile  but 


114  MUD  HOLLOW 

failed.  Paul  sat  dazed  but  unconvinced.  To  talk 
against  work  was  to  talk  against  his  mother. 
His  highest  ideal  was  a  woman  pitching  hay  or 
driving  a  team  to  market.  Work  was  man's 
salvation.  Sweat  was  the  cure  of  all  evil.  No 
one  with  open  pores  did  wrong.  The  idle  hand 
was  the  source  of  vice;  the  idle  brain  planned 
destruction.  Evil  came  not  through  work  but  in 
trying  to  escape  from  work. 

Paul's  visions  lay  in  the  future,  not  in  the  past. 
He  saw  not  the  golden  age  but  the  promised  day. 
His  world  was  yet  to  be  made,  man's  toil  was 
God's  agent  making  it.  He  was  ready  for  the 
laborious  climb  from  dust  to  soul.  No  patience 
had  he  for  those  who  would  not  spit  on  their 
hands  nor  soil  their  faces  to  do  God's  work. 
Beauty  is  below  man,  not  above  him.  It  becomes 
virtue  as  it  nears  the  clouds.  We  see  beauty, 
looking  back;  we  see  virtue  when  we  look  ahead. 
Work  is  God's  agent;  beauty  is  the  temjjter's 
tool. 

The  Professor  jumped  up  again  to  pace  the 
floor,  shaking  his  fist  at  imaginary  enemies.  ' '  Oh, 
God,"  he  cried,  "Beauty,  the  tempter's  tool. 
What  book  says  that?  The  only  place  for  it  is 
the  fire."  He  thumbed  the  books  again  as  if  he 
would  find  the  hated  doctrine  and  cast  it  out  for- 
ever. Failing  in  this  he  sat  glaring  at  Paul  while 
Paul  in  turn  held  firmly  to  his  position.  The  two 
men  had  at  length  reached  an  irreconcilable  dif- 
ference which  seemed  ready  to  destroy  their  long- 
felt  unity. 

''Let  me  show  you,"  cried  Ruth,  at  which, 
grabbing  the  bearskin  on  the  floor,  she  disap- 
peared. Neither  noticed  but  kept  up  their  argu- 
ment. 

''Beauty  and  vice  came  together,"  cried  Paul, 
as  he  saw  in  vision  the  primitive  festivities 
against  which  the  prophets  raved. 


CROSS  CURRENTS  115 

**0h,  shame,"  cried  the  Professor  as  a  pained 
look  came  over  his  face  and  a  chill  shook  his 
frame,  "it  is  only  toil  that  degrades.  Vice  is  a 
product  not  of  God  but  of  a  recent  age.  Why  be 
chained  to  toil  when  its  products  only  increase  our 
misery?  Once  woman  stood  proud  and  free.  Her 
hands  were  clean,  her  eye  clear  and  her  soul  as  yet 
untarnished  by  man's  brutality.  Then  all  was 
beauty — beauty  by  day,  beauty  by  night.  Now 
day  is  toil  and  night  a  dreary,  moaning  sleep.  It 
is  better  to  rest  on  nature's  pillow  than  to  be 
smothered  beneath  a  feather  tick.  The  more  we 
have  the  more  the  misery,  the  louder  the  groan  of 
the  repressed  soul." 

"A  myth,  a  fancy,"  replied  Paul.  "Man  rose 
from  the  earth  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  W'oman 
learned  the  lesson  of  work  first.  She  became 
man's  plaything  only  after  she  had  lost  contact 
with  the  earth  from  which  she  sprang.  x\re  rib- 
bons, flowers  and  fancy  any  compensation  for  an 
empty  stomach,  a  bare  back  and  frosted  toes? 
Nature  lives  only  from  day  to  day.  Man  lives 
for  tomorrow,  daring  the  thundercloud  to  pre- 
vent his  elevation.  Beauty  and  degeneration 
come  together;  they  are  human  foes  not  friends." 

Paul  said  this  with  a  sweep  of  his  long  arm  and 
a  look  on  his  face  as  if  he  saw  the  starving,  bare- 
footed horde  which  books  on  primitive  man  de- 
pict. He  leaned  over  the  table,  on  his  lips  a  tor- 
rent of  invective  which  he  meant  to  hurl  in  the 
defense  of  his  position.  But  just  as  he  started  he 
heard  a  long-drawn-out ' '  Boo ! ' '  over  his  shoulder. 

Turning  quickly,  he  leaped  to  his  feet  and  with 
a  look  of  dismay  retreated  to  the  rear  of  the  room. 
He  saw — w^as  it  girl  or  vision?  If  vision  it  was 
the  distant  past  coming  back  to  life  to  avenge  it- 
self for  the  cruel  pictures  which  prophets,  priests 
and  economists  have  drawn  of  ages  now  buried  in 
a  helpless  oblivion.    If  the  girl,  she  had  exchanged 


116  MUD  HOLLOW 

her  dress  for  a  bearskin  covering.  The  hind  legs 
were  loosely  tied  around  her  waist,  the  forelegs 
flapped  across  her  breast,  the  head  hung  over  her 
shoulder.  On  her  head  were  feathers  and  plumes. 
Her  arms,  her  shoulders  and  legs  shone  white  and 
bare.  About  the  room  she  moved  in  a  quick,  flow- 
ing primitive  dance  which  changed  into  leaps  and 
bounds  as  imagery  demanded. 

Euth  had  read  all  those  books  with  which  her 
father 's  library  overflowed.  Missionaries,  travel- 
ers and  scientists,  each  had  told  his  tale.  They 
were  included  in  the  father 's  scheme  to  unlock  the 
past  of  woman.  What  the  girl  saw  was  dilferent 
from  what  he  saw  and  still  more  different  from 
the  deductions  which  Paul  drew.  To  her,  being 
carried  off  by  a  wild  man  or  guarded  on  a  lone 
island  by  a  dragon  did  not  seem  half  so  bad  as 
it  did  to  the  two  valiant  defenders  of  women  who 
occupied  the  same  study  and  read  the  same  books. 
Dances  and  festivals  were  her  joy.  Even  the 
crude  accounts  of  the  missionaries  were  trans- 
formed from  horror  into  things  of  beauty. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  donned  the 
bearskin  and  danced  before  the  fire.  But  till  now 
the  only  beholder  was  the  looking-glass  which 
smiled  at  the  many  feats  which  she  essayed  to 
perform.  There  was  no  garment  which  she  had 
not  tried  on  or  left  off.  Every  color,  every  move- 
ment, was  carefully  studied  and  skillfully  imitat- 
ed. Hour  after  hour  she  had  made  this  her  amuse- 
ment while  the  men  were  doing  sterner  duty  in 
the  many  vocations  which  occupied  their  atten- 
tion. Her  father  knew  that  she  danced.  She  had 
often  amused  him  in  this  way.  But  they  were 
child  dances.  To  him  she  was  a  little  girl,  nothing 
more. 

Now  she  thought  to  help  them  in  the  solution  of 
the  problem  which  caused  their  differences.  She 
started  with  good  intentions  but  soon  the  spirit 


CROSS  CURRENTS  117 

of  woman  took  possession  of  her.  She  became  a 
type,  not  an  individual.  Up  and  down  the  room 
she  moved  with  an  easy,  swinging  grace.  She 
circled,  she  ran,  she  curtsied,  bending  forward  and 
backward  as  she  felt  the  pulse  of  some  imagined 
scene.  In  feeling  and  in  movement  she  changed 
as  her  thought  flew  from  one  personification  to 
another.  Now  she  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges, 
now  in  the  heated  interior  of  Africa;  the  desert 
of  Sahara  loomed  up  in  turn,  then  the  table  land 
of  central  Asia.  Indian  maidens  were  not  for- 
gotten, nor  the  dwellers  of  the  distant  isles  of 
Southern  Seas.  Wherever  the  missionary  had 
been,  wherever  the  traveler  had  explored,  there 
maidens  had  always  been  found  and  the  same  joy 
of  the  spring  festival  had  found  expression.  Her 
soul  was  in  them  and  they  in  her.  Of  the  millions 
of  ancestors  which  Ruth  had  in  her  each  now  was 
crying  for  expression.  We  may  stifle  our  hered- 
ity, refuse  its  behests,  still  it  is  here,  chained  yet 
eager  for  expression  when  the  bars  are  loosened. 

Ruth  had  never  been  repressed,  the  crushing 
force  of  the  mailed  fist  she  never  felt.  No  bounds 
had  ever  been  set  for  her  self-expression.  What 
the  blood,  the  nerves,  the  muscles  demanded  she 
did  as  if  from  a  conscious  purpose.  Who  can  have 
a  million  ancestors  boxed  in  her  primal  cell  with- 
out some  time  being  each  of  them?  Think  not 
that  she  is  normal  who  feels  only  what  the  church, 
the  school  and  the  age  demand.  She  is  but  a 
fraction  of  w^hat  heredity  prompts  her  to  be. 
Think  not  that  she  is  superior  whose  thought  runs 
in  trained  grooves,  who  thinks  only  of  home,  mar- 
ried virtues  and  food  for  man  to  eat.  All  these 
are  exterior.  The  soul  is  not  in  them  but  in  a  dark 
cavern  to  which  the  modern  woman  seldom  de- 
scends. Below  the  imposed  framework  is  a 
crushed  something  which  every  woman  feels. 

This  is  her  heredity,  this  is  the  voice  of  her 


118  MUD  HOLLOW 

ancestry  crying  for  expression;  this  is  the  fire 
which  lit  the  soul  of  women  in  days  when  she  and 
nature  were  companions.  Now  women  are  scared 
when  they  feel  the  pulse  of  what  is  below,  when 
they  see  their  true  selves  marred  by  convention, 
tortured  by  thorny  commandments,  blinded  by 
ages  of  confinement  in  lanternless  caves.  Yet  de- 
spite all  this,  overlaid  as  it  may  be  with  the  moss 
of  tradition  or  the  mold  of  usage,  woman  carries 
all  her  ancestral  traits  in  her,  ever  ready  to  ex- 
press themselves  when  locks  are  unbolted. 
Her  ancestors  never  die.  They  are  with  her 
and  in  her.  Ruth  was  they  and  they  were  Ruth. 
As  she  circled  around  the  room  they  came  out  of 
her.  She  became  a  thousand  instead  of  one.  Paul 
stood  dazed  as  he  saw  the  multiplication;  they 
seemed  to  fly  in  through  the  window  and  to  rise 
out  of  the  flame  of  the  fireplace. 

The  air  echoed  women's  voices,  the  clouds  took 
her  form,  the  moon  became  twisted  into  girlish 
smiles ;  the  fairies,  witches  and  gnomes  leaped  in 
to  help  their  sister.  All  nature  was  on  Ruth's 
side.  Only  a  stubborn  will  opposed.  Even  it 
shrank  in  terror  from  what  it  could  not  prevent. 
Paul  was  like  a  creature  clinging  to  a  denuded 
tree  while  a  hurricane  sweeps  by  tearing  the 
grass  from  its  roots. 

The  room  had  been  lighted  by  a  lamp  on  the 
table,  but  the  Professor  had  emphasized  one  of 
his  statements  by  blowing  it  out.  He  could 
think  better  when  looking  at  the  blazing  logs  on 
the  hearth.  The  light  which  fell  on  Ruth  came 
from  the  open  fire  or  from  the  moon  which 
peered  through  the  window.  She  had  one  color 
when  she  passed  before  the  fire,  another  when 
she  reached  the  window.  Each  time  she  dis- 
appeared in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  room  she 
reappeared  in  a  new  form  and  had  with  her  a 
new  troupe  of  her  ancestors.     Were  they  real 


CROSS  CURKENTS  119 

or  did  they  exist  in  the  imagination  of  the  ter- 
rified Paul?  He  had  read  the  books,  and  now 
saw  the  same  pictures  as  Ruth.  Yesterday  they 
were  mere  words;  now  they  became  visions. 
Were  both  under  the  same  delusion  or  did  both 
receive  the  same  revelation? 

Paul's  ancestors  chopped  wood,  built  temples, 
fought  battles.  Their  expression  left  a  product 
in  tools,  houses,  farms  and  cities.  Ruth's  an- 
cestors left  no  product,  they  built  no  altars,  nor 
had  they  any  walled  cities.  Hunt  as  you  may, 
the  remnants  of  woman's  efforts  are  not  to  be 
found.  AVhat  she  did  lives  only  in  her  descend- 
ants, coming  to  the  fore  as  the  daughter  repeats 
what  the  mothers  did.  Woman  is  God's  best 
mechanism.  All  that  she  can  be  is  what  her 
mother  gave  her. 

Paul  feared  this  eternal  element  in  woman. 
He  wanted  to  make  her  over  into  deeds  like  his 
own.  Trembling  before  the  host  of  women  who 
joined  Ruth  in  her  dance,  he  ran  at  their  ap- 
proach. But  Ruth  reinforced  by  her  sisters 
became  more  bold.  Wilder  was  the  dance,  more 
complex  its  figures.  When  she  crouched  before 
the  fire  and  leaped  out  at  the  startled  Paul,  she 
seemed  like  a  thousand  disembodied  spirits. 
AVhen  she  passed  before  the  window  new  flocks 
of  ancestral  ghosts  seemed  to  float  in.  What 
woman  was  there  that  Paul  did  not  see?  What 
dress  or  features  but  passed  before  his 
gaze  and  riveted  his  attention  in  spite  of  his 
endeavor  to  shut  them  out?  They  were  not  the 
modest  Idas  which  smile  from  the  wall,  neither 
the  pale-faced  mother  doing  a  man's  duty  in  the 
hay-field.  They  were  simply  women  eager  to 
fulfill  their  function,  bubbling  over  with  joy  and 
happiness.  No  prison  held  them;  no  chain 
bound  their  feet  nor  did  garments  hide  their 
identity  or  impede  their  movements. 


120  MUD  HOLLOW 

They  sang,  they  danced,  they  appealed.  They 
chased  the  virtuous  Paul  about  the  room  until 
he  fled  to  a  dark  corner  where  he  held  them  at 
bay.  Currents  of  air  seemed  to  sweep  by  him 
and  a  still  greater  force  back  of  him  seemed  to 
push  him  on.  But  Paul  was  will.  He  braced 
his  feet  as  if  he  were  to  meet  the  charge  of  an 
opposing  football  squadron.  When  in  this  way 
victory  was  assured  the  sides  of  the  room  faded 
and  the  wall  paper  turned  into  trees.  He  was 
not  in  Bowman  but  in  a  virgin  forest  amid  the 
blaze  of  a  thousand  torches  which  lit  up  a  mid- 
night festival.  Here  woman  w^as  supreme. 
Each  was  a  Euth  and  more.  There  was  no  man 
to  say  ''No!"  to  their  impulses  nor  prophet  to 
foretell  their  doom.  Paul  sprang  back  in  hor- 
ror; with  a  mighty  sweep  he  drove  them  forth. 
Will  dominated  and  Bowman  returned. 

Yet  Ruth  was  before  him,  wilder  and  more 
excited  than  ever.  Her  leaps  were  longer.  Li 
dizzy  circles  she  swept  by  him  and  strove  to 
drag  him  with  her.  Her  father  caught  her 
spirit,  swung  around  the  room  with  her  but  Paul 
stood  in  his  corner  firmly  intrenched  behind  a 
chair.  With  a  bound  she  leaped  upon  the  chair 
and  threw  her  arms  around  him  crying,  "Paul, 
come ! ' ' 

Dodging,  he  escaped,  but  she  flew  about  the 
room  after  him.  Just  as  she  grasped  him  he  leaped 
from  the  window.  She  would  have  followed  but 
her  father  caught  and  held  her  tightly  in  his  arms. 

What  the  fire  saw,  what  the  moon  saw,  the  Pro- 
fessor could  have  seen  but  did  not.  He  held  not 
the  bearskin,  but  Ruth !  her  face  hot  with  passion. 

Clasping  her  closely  to  his  bosom,  he  sat  in  his 
chair  and  laughed;  laughed  until  the  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks  and  his  body  shook.  At  last  he 
stopped  long  enough  to  cry,  '*I  guess  we  won^t 
hear  of  that  economic  woman  for  a  while."    Then 


THE  DISCOVERY  121 

he  laughed  again.    The  Professor  had  won  a  vic- 
tory but  at  what  cost? 

The  girl  mistook  his  joy  for  an  approval  of  her 
conduct. 

XIII 

The  Discovery 

After  this  episode  Paul  did  not  appear.  His 
excuse  was  the  urgency  of  work,  thinking  thus 
to  find  something  to  divert  his  thought  from  his 
surging  impulses.  There  had  been  a  world  with- 
out and  a  world  within.  Between  them  there  were 
reactions,  but  no  external  message  got  by  the  care- 
fully locked  door,  the  key  to  which  the  will  firmly 
held.  The  body  obeyed,  never  starting  fresh  im- 
pressions. Now  it  was  alive.  Starting  trains  of 
thought,  it  forced  pictures  into  Paul's  conscious- 
ness which  he  would  gladly  have  forbidden.  The 
theology  of  his  famous  predecessor  had  been  to 
him  a  mere  theory  until  this  moment.  Now  it  be- 
came a  great  reality.  Feeling  he  must  assert  his 
spiritual  mastery,  he  resorted  to  many  expedients 
to  bring  back  the  calm  which  had  always  been  his 
to  enjoy. 

All  in  vain.  The  long  walks,  the  cross- 
country runs,  the  indoor  sports  had  all  been  tried. 
They  seemed  to  work,  but  when  he  started  across 
the  campus  to  resume  his  place  in  the  study  a 
phantom  Ruth  bobbed  up  from  behind  the  bushes 
or  was  reflected  from  the  window  panes  of  the 
home  he  approached.  He  tried  to  laugh  at  his 
visions,  he  threw  stones  into  the  bushes  to  show 
how  indifferent  he  was  to  the  spectral  world.  But 
his  visions  continued  to  haunt  him  in  spite  of  his 
earnest  endeavors  to  suppress  them.  He  went  to 
the  settlement  to  get  relief.  Girls  were  every- 
where.   For  the  first  time  he  discovered  that  they 


122  MUD  HOLLOW 

all  had  limbs,  necks  and  winning  smiles.  He  won- 
dered how  they  could  be  so  careless — exposing 
their  charms  without  the  least  consideration  of 
proprieties. 

Just  what  girls  had  been  to  him  before  and  how 
they  had  acted  he  never  stopped  to  consider.  He 
had,  in  fact,  never  given  them  a  moment's  thought. 
He  could  not  have  told  whether  their  skirts  vv^ere 
long  or  short  or  how  low  their  dresses  were  cut. 
Girls  were  girls.  He  neither  hated  nor  admired 
them,  but  went  his  way  as  they  did  theirs.  Now, 
dress  and  girl  became  distinct  entities  and  the 
ends  of  dress  seemed  to  be  to  expose  what  should 
not  be  seen.  He  gazed  at  their  ajjparel  with  blank 
astonishment,  wondering  how  such  an  aggregation 
of  insinuating  devices  could  have  been  invented. 
He  tried  to  figure  how  he  would  have  them  dress, 
but  his  mind  refused  to  work  that  way.  It  always 
passed  from  the  seen  to  the  unseen.  Try  as  he 
would,  the  beneath  always  got  on  the  outside.  The 
shock  of  Ruth's  passion  strix^ped  woman  of  her 
covering.  She  was  always  dancing  before  him, 
in  every  girl  who  came  under  his  gaze.  They 
seemed  to  throw  off  their  apparel  the  moment  he 
approached.  Back  of  each  was  a  specter  Avhich 
stood  forth  so  plainly  that  he  rubbed  his  eyes  to 
be  sure  that  no  transformation  had  taken  place. 
"How  brazen  girls  are,"  was  a  constant  thought. 
Even  their  voices  started  an  inward  terror  which 
he  found  no  means  of  suppressing. 

So  he  deserted  the  town  and  sought  the  woods. 
But  he  could  hear  Ruth's  voice  everywhere,  "Wait 
Paul,  it  is  I,"  echoed  from  every  hill.  If  he 
looked  over  his  shoulder  she  was  there,  running 
as  he  ran,  turning  as  he  turned.  Each  day  the 
tension  became  worse;  he  lost  weight;  he  bored 
his  companions  with  frequent  challenges  of  cross- 
country runs  in  the  hope  that  their  presence  would 
drive  the  specter  away.    It  did,  but  when  alone  it 


THE  DISCOVERY  123 

came  back  with  fresh  courage.  At  last  he  was 
only  safe  in  the  lecture  room.  Here  he  was  the 
self  of  old,  pouring  forth  his  thought  in  a  thrill- 
ing eloquence  which  astonished  his  hearers.  Stu- 
dents crowded  the  room,  to  the  doorway.  Even 
old  professors,  wearied  by  the  talk  of  years,  drop- 
ping in  to  hear  the  boy  orator  went  away  with  a 
new  thrill.  What  was  in  came  out  while  he  talked, 
so  forcefully  that  the  without  had  no  chance  to 
get  within.  Strong  as  he  was,  the  glow  of  the 
lecture  tired  him.  The  active  brain  sapping  the 
vigor  of  the  body  left  him  faint.  Something  was 
wrong.  His  friends  could  see  it  but  could  not 
divine  its  cause.  They  suggested  amusements  and 
brought  delicacies,  vied  with  each  other  in  friend- 
ly acts  and  yet  the  flush  on  his  cheek  grew  plainer, 
his  eye  glowing  as  if  with  fever.  They  advised  a 
trip  to  the  seashore,  or  some  diversion  in  the  city. 
But  all  in  vain.  The  lecture  was  Paul's  one  joy; 
to  it  he  clung  with  a  desperate  resolve  to  gain 
self-mastery  through  cleanness  of  thouglit.  Each 
day  he  seemed  almost  to  grasp  a  solution.  He 
saw  it  coming  down  the  aisle  or  springing  from 
the  faces  of  his  hearers.  But  just  as  he  grasped 
it  the  bell  rang  the  closing  of  tlie  hour.  His  spirit 
slunk  back  within  himself,  his  thought  faded  until 
brought  to  life  again  by  the  next  period. 

The  crisis  which  Paul  faced  was  not  less  acute 
than  that  which  Euth  underwent  during  the  same 
period.  That  indifference  for  the  morrow  which 
was  her  charm  faded.  She  was  now  a  being  with 
an  end.  Her  dreams  became  day  visions  and  they 
walked  about  with  her.  But  whatever  disguise 
her  primitive  thought  took  it  became — when  un- 
masked— Paul !  She  yearned  for  him  every  min- 
ute, dreamt  of  him  every  night.  Each  little  re- 
minder of  him  stirred  a  fresh  emotion.  Paul  was 
everywhere,  "Paul,  Paul,  I  must  win  Paul,"  was 
her  constant  cr)^,  the  sole  content  of  her  prayer. 


124  MUD  HOLLOW 

She  sought  every  device  of  which  she  could  think 
to  augment  her  physical  appeal;  planned  many 
surprises  which  would  find  him  unawares  as  he 
passed  up  the  lawn  or  entered  the  study.  She 
practised  her  stunts  daily  before  the  looking-glass 
eagerly  waiting  Paul 's  return  to  try  their  efficacy. 
Knowing  her  beauty,  she  trusted  its  power. 

But  no  Paul  came.  She  heard  of  the  wonderful 
lectures;  the  town  was  ablaze  with  their  glory. 
But  there  was  no  place  for  girls  in  the  man- 
guarded  precincts  of  the  college  hall.  She  knew 
of  his  walks ;  tried  to  catch  him  in  secluded  places. 
But  all  in  vain.  Paul  would  neither  stop  nor  listen. 
As  he  dashed  on,  he  became  more  of  a  hero,  more 
indispensable,  a  greater  object  of  admiration. 
The  unattainable  must  be  attained,  the  impassable 
must  be  crossed.  There  is  some  entrance  to  the 
holy  of  holies  and  this  she  would  find. 

Many  days  elapsed  before  a  new  avenue  of  ap- 
proach occurred  to  her.  She  loved  to  sit  in  Paul's 
chair  before  the  big  desk  and  imagine  herself 
writing  on  the  book.  She  tried  her  hand  to  imitate 
the  admired  Paul.  Oh,  could  his  spirit  come  to 
her  through  his  pen  and  through  the  paper  he  was 
using!  It  is  an  old  thought  that  we  can  control 
others  by  a  control  of  the  things  they  use.  Ruth 
was  primitive  enough  in  her  mood  to  feel  its 
force.  At  first  she  only  rewrote  sentences  which 
she  had  heard  Paul  use  or  phrases  lier  father 
often  repeated.  Then  she  grew  bolder.  The  old 
yearning  to  participate  in  the  great  work  revived. 
She  would  write  a  chapter  to  show  her  ability. 
Then,  ah,  then,  she  could  become  a  co-worker  on 
the  epoch-making  book. 

The  chapter  on  which  the  two  men  split  she 
w^ould  write  in  her  own  way.  She  saw  this  woman 
as  a  sister  to  lierself.  She  knew  the  literature  on 
primitive  man  as  well  as  they,  but  she  trusted  her 
memory  and  thus  mixed  her  dreams  with  her  facts. 


THE  DISCOVERY  125 

The  world  she  described  was  a  dream  world, 
where  awful  tragedies  chilled  the  blood,  where 
transformations  were  sudden;  yet  in  the  end 
came  out  as  they  should.  It  was  a  rambling  story 
dictated  by  the  feeling  of  each  day  and  often  re- 
vised to  meet  new  impulses.  She  meant  it  to  be 
a  real  story  and  yet  her  own  desires  forced  their 
way  in  so  much  that  each  incident  had  some  bear- 
ing on  her  own  situation.  It  was  a  true  story 
only  insofar  as  she  was  a  primitive  woman  her- 
self, and  thus  made  the  past  and  present  one. 
But  Ruth  was  not  enough  of  a  philosof)her  to  see 
it  in  this  light.  The  chapter  ran  as  her  fancy 
dictated.  She  thought  of  Paul  as  the  hero  of  a 
cave  dwellers'  epoch.  It  was  easy,  therefore,  to 
mix  Paul,  dreams  and  history  in  one  view  and 
satisfy  herself  that  she  was  writing  fact  when  she 
was  merely  dreaming  Paul. 

The  story  of  Lady  Margaret  thus  came  into  be- 
ing and  its  author  cast  about  for  means  to  get  it 
into  Paul's  hands.  She  yearned  to  give  it  to  him 
herself  and  see  the  delight  with  which  she  w^as 
sure  he  would  greet  it.  She  thought  out  many 
plans,  but  their  execution  was  frustrated  by  a 
sudden  announcement.  Paul  was  sick.  He  had  a 
high  fever  and  the  doctor  had  been  called  in. 
Even  though  it  was  Sunday,  her  father  shut  him- 
self up  with  a  dozen  new  books  on  economics, 
expecting  the  next  morning  to  deliver  Paul's  out- 
lined lecture  on  the  latest  phases  of  the  value 
controversy.  It  was  not  an  easy  task,  but  his  zeal 
made  up  for  his  deficiency.  Ruth  wandered  aim- 
lessly about.  She  went  to  the  gate  a  dozen  times, 
determined  to  seek  Paul,  but  each  time  her  heart 
failed.  So  went  the  day  until  the  church  bell 
called  Bowman  together  for  the  afternoon  service. 
Then  as  the  campus  became  still  she  ventured 
forth,  hoping  for  a  look  at  Paul  or  at  least  a 
chance  to  leave  the  story  of  Lady  Margaret  with 


126  MUD  HOLLOW 

liim.  Many  times  she  walked  along  the  path  under 
Paul's  window,  striving  to  work  up  enough  cour- 
age to  call  him.  But  something  choked  her  every 
time  she  tried  to  raise  her  voice ;  she  grew  more 
desperate  and  thought  to  look  at  her  hero.  Plac- 
ing her  hand  on  Paul's  windowsill,  she  gave  a 
spring,  hoping  to  attract  his  attention  or  at  least 
to  see  him.  Her  first  bound  failed.  She  saw  only 
the  dark  walls  of  an  almost  empty  room.  Paul 
was  evidently  in  bed  and  her  heart  throbbed  with 
pain  as  the  thought  of  his  suffering  became  more 
intense.  A  mighty  impulse  seized  her.  Leaping 
with  such  force  that  she  could  not  stop,  she  fell 
through  his  window  and  lay  in  a  jumble  on  the 
floor.  Her  dress  was  torn,  her  face  was  bloody, 
for  the  moment  she  was  paralyzed  by  shock. 

Paul  jumped  up  from  the  couch  where  he  lay. 
AVas  it  a  new  vision  or  was  it  a  reality?  He 
rubbed  his  eyes  to  see.  All  night  long,  yes,  even 
in  the  day,  phantom  Ruths  had  been  casting  them- 
selves in  his  way.  They  flew  through  the  transom, 
hid  behind  his  pictures,  raised  their  alluring  forms 
above  the  foot  of  his  bed.  Look  where  he  would 
with  eyes  closed  or  open,  they  forced  themselves 
on  his  attention  and  addled  him  with  their  naked- 
ness. 

From  their  reveries  the  cry  of  the  helpless  girl 
on  the  floor  aroused  him.  Ruth's  super-abundant 
hair  was  always  getting  her  in  difficulty  and 
this  time  it  had  been .  caught  by  the  latch 
on  the  window  frame.  Paul  sprang  to  her  aid, 
unfastened  the  tangled  tresses,  washed  the  blood 
from  her  face,  and  pinned  the  dress  together  so 
as  to  hide  the  girl's  exposed  breast. 

She  had  exceeded  all  her  wishes  in  making  him 
see  her  and  she  expected  a  response.  Hope  flushed 
her  face  as  she  raised  her  arms  to  encircle  her 
hero.  Paul  gave  a  start,  the  color  of  his  cheek 
darkened.    But  that  mighty  will  dominated.  Rais- 


THE  DISCOVERY  127 

ing  her  gently,  he  put  her  on  the  couch.  From  this 
Ruth  leaped  with  a  bound,  dazed  by  her  fall  but 
boiling  with  emotion.  She  rushed  at  Paul  but 
clasping  her  hands  he  held  her  off.  They  stood 
thus  facing  each  other  while  Paul  cast  about  for 
means  to  relieve  the  situation.  Something  must 
be  done  to  shield  Ruth.  For  her  to  be  seen  in  the 
Dorms  meant  disgrace.  At  last  desperation  moved 
him  as  he  heard  the  church  audience  join  in  sing- 
ing the  doxology.  He  would  wrap  her  in  his 
blanket,  carry  her  across  the  campus  and  deposit 
her  in  her  own  home.  Paul  was  above  suspicion. 
No  one  would  question  him  if  he  crossed  the 
campus  mth  a  strange  bundle  on  Sunday.  He 
tried  to  explain  his  intent  to  Ruth,  but  it  only 
made  her  opposition  more  violent.  She,  Ruth,  the 
woman,  to  be  carried  across  the  campus  disguised 
as  a  baby — never!  She  jerked  loose  from  liis 
grasp,  angrily  slapped  him  in  the  face.  Before 
he  could  seize  her  she  vaulted  out  the  window. 

The  sudden  exit  of  Ruth  made  her  visit  seem 
like  a  dream.  She  had,  however,  left  a  reminder 
in  the  shape  of  a  shoe.  He  looked  around  for  a 
safe  place  to  hide  it  and  finally  put  it  in  his 
bureau.  Then  he  pulled  it  out  and  tried  several 
other  places,  but  they  all  seemed  equally  unsatis- 
factory. The  shoe  seemed  to  shine  out  under  any 
cover  and  to  get  always  in  the  very  place  where 
someone  would  be  sure  to  see  it.  A  loud  knock 
found  Paul  with  the  shoe  still  in  hand,  but  with  a 
sudden  spring  he  threw  it  into  his  trunk,  and  then 
invited  the  visitor  in.  It  proved  to  be  Dr.  Dickson, 
and  in  his  hand  was  the  other  shoe.  Paul  waited 
for  his  winded  visitor  to  speak,  but  speech  came 
slowly. 

''Paul,"  he  finally  cried,  "a.  dastardly  deed  has 
been  committed !  The  sacred  precincts  of  our  col- 
lege campus  have  been  invaded.  I  was  returning 
from  early  prayer  and  came  this  way  to  reach  my 


128  MUD  HOLLOW 

study,  where  1  had  left  the  notes  for  my  evening 
sermon.  As  I  passed  under  the  window  of  Dr. 
Morse 's  study  a  girl  suddenly  leaped  out  and  came 
down  on  my  head.  She  knocked  off  my  hat  and 
glasses.  Before  I  recovered  my  astonislunent  she 
ran  across  the  yard  and  disappeared  behind  the 
trees.  I  felt  around  for  my  hat  and  found  it 
under  Dr.  Morse's  window.  The  glasses  I  could 
not  find  but  they,  too,  will  prove  what  happened 
and  where.  I  have  long  suspected  Dr.  Morse  of 
heterodoxy — ^but  of  adultery  I  never  thought.  To 
think,  too,  that  we  have  such  girls  around.  They 
corrupt  the  whole  town.  Oh,  is  the  purity  of  Bow- 
man to  go  and  are  we  to  be  disgraced  in  this 
fashion  by  one  of  our  professors?" 

Paul  knew  that  the  window  through  which  the 
girl  had  come  was  his  o\\ti,  and  that  Ruth's  ad- 
venture was  on  the  verge  of  being  discovered. 
His  first  thought  w^as  of  the  glasses.  He  sprang 
through  the  window  with  a  bound  and  back  again 
with  another.  His  surmise  was  right.  The  glasses 
lay  in  the  path  directly  under  his  window.  The 
doctor  was  too  greatly  pleased  by  their  recovery 
to  ask  whence  they  came.  He  put  them  on  with 
an  air  of  relief  and  then  began  again. 

'^I  must  report  this  to  President  Thompson," 
he  finally  said  and  suddenly  left  the  room,  bent 
on  a  righteous  mission. 

Paul  let  him  leave  not  because  he  wanted  Dr. 
Morse  to  be  blamed,  but  because  he  hoped  to  find 
some  way  of  protecting  Ruth.  Yet  no  available 
plan  suggested  itself,  and  instead  came  the  thought 
of  hiding  Ruth's  shoes,  of  which  he  now  had  two. 
He  tried  and  tried  changing  every  article  in  the 
room  many  times,  and  finally  for  want  of  a  better 
plan  dropped  one  of  them,  which  in  the  many 
transferences  had  found  its  way  to  his  table,  into 
his  football  shoe.  Paul  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
he  saw  it  so  completely  disappear  and  turned  to 


THE  DISCOVERY  129 

get  Ruth's  other  shoe  to  similarly  dispose  of  it. 

Before  this  was  done,  the  door  opened  and  the 
Doctor  again  appeared.  He  had  seen  the  presi- 
dent, but  having  told  his  tale  was  assured  that 
it  must  be  a  mistake  as  Dr.  Morse  went  to  Frank- 
lin to  preach.  The  president  was  inclined  to  scout 
at  the  reality  of  the  girl  although  he  suspected 
that  a  practical  joke  was  being  played.  He  ques- 
tioned the  doctor  carefully  and  cautioned  him  in 
the  good  name  of  the  college  not  to  spread  such 
grave  rumors  without  a  stronger  case.  So  much, 
indeed,  was  said  that  the  doctor  left  the  president 
not  only  doubting  his  own  senses  but  fearing  that 
his  statement  might  be  used  as  a  basis  of  remov- 
ing him  from  the  head  of  the  theological  school. 
He  knew  the  literal  element  of  the  church  was 
suggesting  that  the  younger  and  more  brilliant 
Dr.  Morse  might  with  advantage  be  put  at  the 
head  of  the  school — and  this  might  give  them  an 
occasion  to  act.  So  he  had  returned  to  Paul  to 
ask  him  to  say  nothing  but  to  let  the  president 
investigate  as  he  would. 

The  first  thing  he  saw  was  Paul's  shoe  on  the 
table.  He  picked  it  up  in  amazement  while  Paul 
trembled  for  fear  he  would  see  the  shoe  within. 

* '  Is  this  the  shoe  I  brought  in  ? "  he  asked  with 
emotion.  "I  did  not  have  my  glasses  on,  but  I 
thought  it  was  a  girl 's  shoe.  It  seems  big  enough 
for  you."  He  did  not  wait  for  an  explanation  but 
went  on,  "I  see,  Paul,  it  is  all  a  mistake.  I  fear 
I  was  too  precipitate  and  a  little  mixed. 

''You  won't  tell,  will  you?"  he  asked  entreat- 
ingly.  Paul  having  meant  no  deception  thought 
that  this  furnished  a  ready  means  of  protecting 
Ruth.  He  gave  the  asked-for  promise  and  the 
good  doctor  left  in  peace. 

Dr.  Dickson,  returning  home,  told  the  story  to 
his  wife.  She  was  not  so  easily  misled  as  the 
president.     The  red  shoe,  the  flying  dress,  the 


130  MUD  HOLLOW 

athletic  girl  leaping  out  of  the  window  brought  up 
to  her  mind  but  one  girl  and  that  was  Ruth.  Her 
old  antagonism  burst  out  anew,  she  felt  sure  she 
was  on  the  track  of  an  expose  that  would  dis- 
comfit her  old  rival,  Professor  Stuart.  To  her 
husband's  appeal  she  only  smiled.  Picking  a  hair 
off  his  coat  collar,  she  remarked,  caustically,  "I 
presume  this  is  the  hair  of  an  angel." 

The  old  doctor  now  became  more  confused  and 
she  more  determined  to  investigate.  Had  she  not 
been  too  sure  of  the  complicity  of  Dr.  Morse  she 
could  have  found  a  bit  of  Ruth's  dress  hanging 
on  the  window-frame  of  Paul 's  room.  Examining 
the  grass  under  Dr.  Morse's  window  carefully  and 
not  seeing  anything,  she  started  to  track  Ruth 
home.  She  soon  came  on  footprints  in  the  soft 
earth  and  they  pointed  straight  toward  the  Pro- 
fessor's house. 

* '  Hello,  what  is  this  ? ' '  she  cried  as  she  spied  a 
roll  of  paper  on  the  grass,  tied  nicely  in  a  blue 
ribbon.  This  was,  indeed,  a  find,  for  it  was  Ruth's 
story  of  Lady  Margaret.  In  the  excitement  of  the 
interview  with  Paul  she  had  forgotten  about  it 
and  in  her  mad  haste  to  get  home  she  had  dropped 
it.  It  did  not  take  Mrs.  Dickson  long  to  digest 
the  contents.  After  reading  it  carefully  she  be- 
gan looking  for  other  evidence.  Here  she  reaped 
a  rich  harvest.  Ruth's  foot,  caught  in  a  bramble, 
left  a  bit  of  her  stocking  as  evidence  of  her  flight. 
Farther  on,  a  thorn  had  torn  her  dress. 

Mrs.  Dickson  did  not  stop  until  she  had  followed 
the  tracks  into  the  Professor's  yard.  Looking  at 
the  house,  she  saw  the  Professor's  image  faintly 
through  the  window.  "I'll  go  this  instant,"  she 
decided,  with  a  flash  of  anger.  "You  must  start 
early  to  catch  an  old  fool  and  a  young  hussy  be- 
fore night." 

But  as  she  approached,  her  decision  faded. 
Even  she  hesitated  to  break  in  on  the  Professor's 


THE  DISCOVERY  131 

evening  meditation.  His  glasses  were  raised  above 
his  eyes  and  a  sweet  smile  lit  his  face.  He  was 
thinking  how  gracious  God  had  been  to  him ;  how 
all  his  wishes  were  being  fulfilled.  The  book 
seemed  nearing  completion,  the  cause  of  woman 
was  gaining  recruits  every  day.  And  his  girl,  oh, 
what  a  treasure  she  was  and  how  fully  her  acts 
corresponded  to  his  theories!  He  had  seen  the 
change  which  had  come  over  Ruth.  In  a  single 
year  she  seemed  to  have  completed  a  whole  college 
course.  She  had  an  eager  desire  for  knowledge 
and  would  listen  for  hours  to  his  recitations  from 
his  favorite  Greek  authors.  What  more  could  be 
asked  than  to  have  Paul  carry  his  work  to  com- 
pletion and  to  have  Ruth  participate  in  his  liter- 
ary enjoyment"/  Such  a  state  of  bliss  made  even 
Mrs.  Dickson  pause.  She  turned  back,  threw  her- 
self on  a  bench  and  read  anew  the  tale  of  Lady 
Margaret,  thinking  out  many  bitter  taunts  which 
she  knew  the  Professor  would  keenly  feel.  When 
she  returned  she  saw  the  Professor  standing 
cheerfully  before  the  open  fire.  She  entered 
abruptly  for  fear  she  might  lose  courage  again. 
Pressing  her  hand  he  led  her  to  a  seat. 

*'I  fear,"  he  said,  "my  reverie  was  so  deep  that 
I  did  not  hear  your  knock.  I  was  immersed  in  a 
perusal  of  my  dearest  heresy,  and  for  these  crude 
children  of  our  brain  we  all  have  a  peculiar  fond- 
ness, have  we  not?" 

'*I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  ** there  is  such 
a  thing  as  being  so  fond  of  our  fancies  that  we 
neglect  our  duty.  Sin  has  a  long  rope  but  it  trips 
the  offender  in  the  end.  It  is  easy  to  slide  down, 
but  it  is  a  hard  road  to  climb  back." 

The  Professor  raised  his  eyes  and  replied, 
* '  What  has  my  darling  child  done  now "?  You  have 
evidently  come  to  re-fight  our  old  battle. ' ' 

"Your  darling  child?  How  long  are  you  going 
to   persist   in    that   infant-accountability   fiction 


132  MUD  HOLLOW 

about  Euth?  Child!  She  is  a  woman  grown,  re- 
sponsible for  every  sinful  impulse.  Smile  in  your 
superiority  if  you  will,  but  remember  I  always 
told  you  she'd  go  bad  and  now  she  has." 

''My  dear  lady,  my  dear  lady,  you  choose  words 
of  sinister  suggestion ;  and  you  choose  at  random, 
I  fear,  to  describe  some  slight  offense  against 
Bowman 's  code — which  I  have  often  defined  to  be 
an  attempt  of  men  to  deform  the  nature  of 
women. ' ' 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  shook  a  trembling 
forefinger  at  him.  "Bowman's  code  includes  the 
Seventh  Commandment.  Perhaps  you'll  say  that 
deforms  nature,  too.  If  you  had  thought  of  it 
oftener,  your  daughter  would  not  be  a  fallen 
woman  today  carrying  obscene  literature  to  men's 
rooms  and  unfit,  do  you  hear  me  ?  to  crawl  on  her 
hands  and  knees  into  Ida's  house." 

In  the  profound  silence  that  followed,  his  eyes 
■bore  down  upon  her  inexorably.  "This  passes  all 
bounds,"  he  said  slowly.  "Every  word  you  utter 
from  this  moment  will  receive  full  reckoning.  I 
confront  you  now  in  the  name  of  my  innocent  child 
and  of  my  dead  wife.  What  is  the  proof  of  your 
charge?    I  shall  extenuate  nothing." 

She  threw  the  tale  of  Lady  Margaret  on  the 
table  and  cried,  "Eead  that  story  and  you  will 
see  her  depravity.  Traveling  disguised  as  a  man. 
Dancing  naked  on  the  lawn;  and  sleeping  on  the 
grass.  Oh,  what  a  fine  outcome  for  the  girl  who 
sings  with  the  birds  and  rolls  on  the  grass  in  the 
plain  sight  of  men."  Then  she  told  her  story  in 
a  firm,  shrill  voice  and  showed  the  remnant  of 
Ruth's  dress.  "If  you  want  more  proof  than  this 
paper,  this  cloth,  ask  the  young  lady  to  produce 
her  red  slippers — ^both  of  them." 

Professor  Stuart  sat  dumb  through  all  this 
tirade.  Before  she  was  half  through,  he  seemed 
to  have  aged  by  ten  years.    To  him  Ruth  had  been 


THE   CONFESSION  133 

but  a  mere  girl.  He  never  thought  of  her  as  a 
woman;  now  it  all  rushed  in  on  him  and  in  the 
worst  of  ways.  He  did  not  distrust  the  proof. 
The  torn  bits  of  clothing,  the  tracks  and  the  story 
sank  in  on  his  mind  and  made  him  too  abject  for 
thought.  When  Krs.  Dickson  was  done,  she  flung 
the  story  into  his  lap  and  turned  to  go.  As  she 
crossed  the  door,  she  turned  with  a  gleam  of 
triumph  and  said,  sneeringly,  ''God's  law  still 
holds.  Each  sinner  meets  his  doom  even  as  in 
days  of  old.  'When  a  girl  goes  wrong,  look  for 
the  man. '  But  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  keep 
an  eye  on  the  girl." 

Slamming  the  door  to  express  her  righteous 
indignation,  she  left  the  house  in  triumph. 


XIV 

The  Confession 

The  old  man  sat  without  moving.  His  energies 
could  not  overcome  the  shock  and  resume  their 
normal  functionings.  At  last  he  was  partially 
aroused  by  the  entrance  of  Ruth. 

' '  Why,  what  is  the  matter  I ' '  she  cried.  ' '  Some- 
thing has  happened.  What  can  it  be!  Oh,  you 
look  as  though  it  w^ere  I.  Have  I  done  anything 
to  displease  youf" 

She  looked  about  and  her  eye  fell  on  the  story 
of  Lady  Margaret. 

"There  is  my  story.  How  came  it  here?  It 
tells  of  a  girl  who  loved  her  negligent  hero  so 
much  that  she  followed  him.    You  must  hear  it." 

Ruth  sat  on  a  stool  at  his  feet  and  read.  Her 
soft  voice  and  fine  intonations  due  to  her  o"\vn 
feelings  made  tlie  recitation  effective,  doing  much 
to  change  his  belief  as  to  its  contents  and  Ruth's 
innocence.    The  story  did  not  strike  him  as  it  had 


134  MUD  HOLLOW 

appeared  to  Mrs.  Dickson.  True,  the  heroine 
was  among  men  but  she  received  no  harm.  A  bit 
of  the  old  man 's  philosophy  returned.  He  became 
more  cheery.  But  he  was  compelled  to  probe 
further. 

"What  is  thisT'  he  asked,  holding  up  the  shred 
of  her  dress. 

' '  I  tore  my  dress, ' '  replied  Ruth  frankly  but  a 
little  abashed. 

' '  On  the  college  grounds  T '  he  asked. 
*'Yes,"  replied  Ruth,  "I  ran  across  them  com- 
ing from  Paul's  room.  I  wanted  him  to  read 
Lady  Margaret  and  thought  I  might  put  it  in  his 
room  while  he  was  at  church.  So  I  ran  over  and 
jumped  in  at  the  window  to  leave  it.  Paul  was 
there  and  helped  me  fix  my  dress,  but  would  not 
let  me  kiss  him.  So  I  leaped  from  the  window 
and  ran  home.  Did  he  bring  my  story  back?  I 
have  forgotten  what  I  did  with  it.  I  tliink  Paul 
was  real  mean  not  to  let  me  kiss  him,  don't  you? 
He  never  looks  at  me  and  I  don't  believe  he  knows 
what  a  woman  is  except  by  her  hair.  But,  oh, 
papa,  he  ought  to  run  off  with  me  just  as  did  the 
heroes  of  old.  I  want  him  to  see  me — but  he  won 't 
look.  If  he  would  only  look  he  would  love  me,  I 
am  sure." 

These  statements,  so  honestly  made,  showed 
Mrs.  Dickson's  explanations  of  the  evening's 
events  were  wrong.  Ruth  did  not  jump  out  of  Dr. 
Morse's  window  but  she  did  from  Paul's  and  that 
was  almost  as  bad.  The  Professor  meditated,  for 
he  scarcely  knew  how  to  begin  this  new  topic. 
His  philosophy  had  always  emphasized  equality— 
the  complete  equality  of  men  and  women.  This 
clearly  involved  the  right  of  women  to  discuss  all 
topics  and  to  act  according  to  what  they  conceived 
to  be  their  interest.  All  problems  of  intellectual 
and  political  rights  he  had  gone  over  a  thousand 
times  but  he  had  never  extended  his  thought  to 


THE   CONFESSION  135 

love  affairs.  Good  women  were  in  his  mind,  like 
Ida,  and  Ida  modestly  waited  for  him  to  make 
advances.  Taking  his  own  experience  without 
question  to  be  the  natural  course  of  events,  he 
was  unprepared  for  a  state  of  mind  in  women  that 
would  cause  them  to  be  the  aggressor  in  love. 
He  had  not  even  gone  far  enough  to  con- 
sider its  possibility.  Several  traits  he  had 
marked  as  being  peculiarly  feminine.  Among 
them  was  modesty.  "These  natural  characters  are 
sufficient  safeguards  to  society.  One  need  not  in- 
terfere ;  God  has  arranged  all  social  relations  by 
a  natural  method  better  than  man  could  by  any 
possibility  devise.  Let  girls  alone  and  their  na- 
tural qualities  appear  in  due  time  and  give  them 
the  protection  they  need.  Shut  up  bad  men;  let 
women  go  free;  the  world  is  for  the  pure;  let 
them  have  it  to  enjoy." 

All  this  he  applied  to  his  girl  and  had  pictured 
her  as  becoming  Ida,  showing  in  her  conduct  all 
that  modesty  and  grace  that  Ida  manifested. 
Thinking  in  this  way,  absorbed  in  his  own  worK, 
he  had  not  seen  the  change  that  was  coming  over 
Ruth.  She  was  to  him  the  same  little  girl  she  had 
always  been.  But  now  as  he  looked  he  saw  a 
woman  before  him.  An  Ida — yes,  more  than  an 
Ida  so  far  as  physical  graces  were  concerned. 
Even  in  her  simplicity  and  earnestness  and  in 
the  delicacy  of  movement  he  could  not  but  be 
charmed  by  the  girl  before  him.  Had  the  vision 
of  the  coming  womanhood  arisen  in  any  other  way 
he  would  have  been  pleased  by  the  many  graces 
of  his  daughter.  But  that  with  these  should  go  a 
fearlessness  in  regard  to  men,  a  willingness  to 
make  advances,  was  a  condition  that  he  could  not 
incorporate  into  his  thought  of  woman.  Why 
should  Ruth  go  to  Paul  and  why  should  she  want 
Paul  to  see  her?    He  had  no  philosophy  to  which 


136  MUD  HOLLOW 

these  thoughts  could  be  attached  and  hence  his 
mind  refused  to  work. 

He  could  now  see  that  Ruth  loved  Paul  and  that 
she  was  using  her  charms  as  a  means  of  arousing 
a  love  for  her.  He  felt  glad  that  it  was  Paul,  for 
Paul  of  all  men  had  the  control  needed  for  such 
a  situation.  Still,  why  should  Ruth  want  to  do 
this  and  where  were  those  natural  restraints 
which  he  felt  would  induce  right  conduct?  God 
never  leaves  us  without  some  guide  to  action. 
Somewhere  in  instinct,  in  habit,  or  in  the  presence 
of  the  beauty  of  nature,  the  right  conduct  is  im- 
pressed. Man  can  only  set  up  bad  standards.  If 
they  are  the  same  as  nature's  they  are  of  no  use. 
If  they  are  different  they  are  wrong.  In  this 
manner  the  old  Professor  had  talked  and,  believ- 
ing what  he  said,  he  put  it  in  practice.  Now  it 
seemed  to  fail  but  why  he  could  not  fathom.  He 
sat  and  thought  and  the  more  lie  thought  the  more 
serious  seemed  the  situation;  he  became  sad- 
der as  he  apprehended  he  had  no  solution  to  offer. 

It  was  Ruth  who  broke  the  silence.  She  was 
still  thinking  of  how  Paul  might  be  impressed  with 
her  beauty  and  of  the  determination  not  to  see 
her  good  qualities. 

''In  the  stories  of  the  past  the  great  contests 
were  over  women.  How  did  they  decide  who  were 
the  beautiful  women?  Did  the  women  come  out 
to  be  observed  or  did  the  men  go  to  them!  If  all 
men  were  like  Paul  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  be 
beautiful.  But  if  he  looked  once,  he  would  love 
me — I  could  make  him ! ' '  She  fell  into  an  abrupt 
silence,  her  hands  and  eyes  restless. 

What  a  situation.  It  was  unprecedented,  unin- 
telligible, untenable;  yet,  after  all,  the  professor 
recognized,  with  the  thrill  of  the  bewildered  trav- 
eller who  finds  a  familiar  landmark,  the  situation 
had  sprung  from  a  theory  and  therefore  must  be 
soluble.    The  doctrine  of  intellectual  rights  he  had 


THE   CONFESSION  137 

thought  covered  the  entire  domain  of  woman's 
affairs.  Such  rights  logically  included  the  adjust- 
ments of  subsidiary  wrongs  as  the  area  of  any 
whole  contains  the  area  of  each  of  its  parts.  But 
which  of  these  panaceas  would  serve  here,  for  a 
passion  like  this — unafraid  of  its  goal,  scornful 
of  restraint,  unaware  of  inequalities?  Inequali- 
ties !  Ah,  here  was  an  approach.  From  the  day 
he  perfected  his  philosophy  he  had  emphasized 
equality,  complete,  thoroughgoing,  basic,  between 
men  and  women.  The  right  of  women  to  discuss 
all  topics  and  to  act  with  the  boldest  freedom, 
according  to  their  own  best  interests,  was  there- 
fore indisputable. 

But  as  the  liberties  of  men  inhere  in  their  qual- 
ities, so  will  those  of  women  inhere  upon  their 
natural  characteristics.  Indeed,  the  liberties  of 
women  are  capable  of  determination  to  a  nicer 
degree  than  those  of  men. 

"The  natural  characteristics  of  woman,  or,  if 
you  will  permit  me  to  express  the  same  truth  in 
another  form,"  he  was  accustomed  to  say  in  his 
annual  lecture,  "the  natural  virtues  of  woman, 
may  be  very  readily  distinguished  from  acquired 
traits  by  subjecting  them  to  the  acid  test  of  an 
assured  position  in  the  State  whereby  their  pro- 
tective vices  are  rendered  unnecessary  for  their 
preservation.  Their  natural  restraints  are  God- 
given  standards  of  conduct ;  man  devices  are  only 
false  or  useless  guides;  if  they  are  not  Nature's 
they  are  false,  and  if  they  are  Nature's  they  are 
useless." 

Chief  among  the  inalienable  restraints  estab- 
lished by  God's  polity  he  ranked  modesty,  Ida's 
quality ;  a  modesty  that  held  her  remote  in  every 
manifestation  of  body  or  soul  which  would  arouse 
the  flood  of  man's  passsion. 

Why  did  her  daughter  long  and  seek?  Why  did 
she  advance  to  challenge  an  indifferent  man  with 


138  MUD  HOLLOW 

her  eager,  half-ripe  charms  1  Why  were  restraints 
defied  by  this  natural  woman  nurtured  in  the  love 
of  God's  laws? 

She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  think  out  a  reply. 
Springing  to  her  feet  she  flew  about  the  room  in 
a  way  that  quickly  exposed  all  her  allures.  Her 
hair,  glistening  from  the  moisture  of  the  bath, 
curled  and  crept  down  her  shoulders.  Through 
the  jetty  strands  rose  the  full  curves  of  her  throat 
and  breast,  firm  as  marble,  fresh  as  snow.  Her 
pose  was  proud  and  challenging.  She  held  her 
draperies  with  an  accustomed  touch  that  showed 
she  had  confidence  in  their  effects. 

In  an  instant  he  saw,  with  stupefying  astonish- 
ment, that  his  daughter  had  long  since  ceased  to 
play  games  at  his  feet.  She  was  a  woman  adoring 
a  man,  hazarding  her  womanhood  to  win  him. 
What  was  worse,  the  way  she  did  it  now  showed 
that  it  was  a  trick  of  hers  which  she  had  often 
done  before. 

"Daughter,"  he  whispered,  *'have  you  ever 
been  out  of  your  room  like  this  before?  Has  Paul 
ever  seen  you  so?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  "not  yet.  But  I  mean 
that  he  shall.  A  hero  has  a  right  to  a  pretty 
woman.    He  triumphs,  she  rewards. ' ' 

"What  child's  talk  is  this!"  he  interrupted, 
profoundly  roused.  "Forgive  me,  daughter,"  he 
added  in  quick  fear,  peering  at  her  with  a  dis- 
tressful smile,  "continue,  please." 

She  was  silent;  after  a  pause  he  began.  "Your 
thoughts  have  taken  color  from  the  barbarous  eras 
of  our  civilization.  While  they  were  dramatic  and 
in  a  way  beautiful,  yet  it  is  well  for  you  that  they 
have  passed  and  that,  having  traversed  the  era 
of  exploitation,  you  now  stand  on  the  threshold  of 
equality.  Now  women  are  not  the  despised  play- 
things and  slaves  of  their  male  captors,  but  jour- 
ney through  life  beside  them,  doing  the  world's 


THE  CONFESSION  139 

work  together,  searching  the  same  treasures, 
striving  for  the  same  rewards,  achieving  the  same 
trimnphs.  The  enjoyment  of  the  common  results 
should  be  shared  by  all  alike." 

As  he  wandered  among  the  reverberating  echoes 
of  pamphlets  and  recitation  rooms,  he  groped  for 
the  fresh  deduction,  or  the  new  premise  that  would 
yield  a  rule  applicable  to  these  snarled  circum- 
stances. He  knew  that  the  philosophy  which  had 
yielded  the  broadest  and  most  facile  generahza- 
tions  must  aptly  untangle  Ruth's  coil.  In  his 
search  he  found  himself  travelling  farther  and 
farther  from  the  issue,  and  sweeping  ever  widen- 
ing arcs.  He  perceived  that  his  deductions  of 
equality  established  Ruth's  right  to  seek  Paul; 
the  flaw  was  not  there.  But  the  assumption  of 
God-given  natural  restraints  seemed  to  be  vitally 
involved — and  that  he  could  not  yield.  Half  con- 
scious of  the  futility  of  his  efforts  he  often  stopped 
when  but  parts  of  his  favorite  premises  were  ut- 
tered. They  seemed  to  be  tripping  him ;  aiding  in 
his  ruin.  Thus  is  it  ever  when  a  philosophy  is 
forced  to  deal  with  a  new  problem.  He  had  as- 
sumed a  restraint  on  woman  that  did  not  really 
exist ;  when  the  antiquated  customs  he  so  despised 
were  removed  this  wholesome  restramt  seemed 
also  likely  to  go. 

Both  by  education  and  by  temperament  Ruth 
was  blind  and  deaf  to  what  was  passing  in  her 
father's  mind  during  this  monologue.  She  was 
not  only  ignorant,  but  impatient,  of  routes  mapped 
on  trained  minds.  At  length  she  proceeded  as  the 
crow  flies,  straight  back  to  her  father's  funda- 
mental premises. 

*'But  is  it  true,"  she  said,  "that  men  and 
women  are  alike?  I  used  to  think  it  must  be  just 
as  you  have  stated.  But  now  I  know.  Paul  is  as 
•different  from  me  as  a  human  being  can  be,  from 
the  top  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of  his  feet. '  * 


140  MUD  HOLLOW 

Her  father  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  stop  her  but 
she  hurried  on. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  can  prove  it.  I  studied  Paul's 
chest  and  arms  when  he  sculled  and  the  way  his 
legs  and  hips  move  when  he  runs!  Why!  His 
muscles  work  with  joy — they  seem  to  shout  with 
happiness  when  he  commands  them;  mine,  poor 
things,  train  them  as  I  will,  obey  with  effort  or 
refuse  before  Paul's  are  fairly  on  their  way. 

"Now,  Father  dearest,  listen  to  me,  and  stop 
looking  as  if  you  couldn't  wait  to  contradict  me. 
For  a  long  time  I  watched  Paul  take  his  morning 
run.  He  used  to  go  five  miles,  but  lately  he  has 
gone  farther  and  faster!  Yet,  I  have  seen  him 
come  home  even  more  eager  than  when  he  started. 
He  finished  as  he  does  on  Field  Day — as  if  some 
great  wish  were  his  driving  master. 

"Oh,  I've  tried  it,  too,  for  if  he  had  a  great 
wish  that  spurred  him  so,  I  had  a  greater.  Sud- 
denly one  morning  I  decided  to  follow  Mm.  So  I 
ran  until  I  thought  my  veins  would  burst;  then 
I  had  to  lie  down  and  watch  him  go  on.  That 
made  me  angry,  jealous;  I  wouldn't  give  m,  and 
every  morning  for  weeks  I  ran  on  the  Ridge.  I 
thought  I  needed  practice,  but  that  helped  oh,  so 
little,  so  little.  I  laid  the  blame  everj^vhere  except 
on  my  own  misconception.  I  w^as  so  sure  God 
meant  two  mated  people  to  do  the  same  things 
that  I  determined  more  and  more  to  run  as  far 
as  he. 

"Father,  sometimes  it  was  awful  on  that  ridge, 
so  still,  high  and  rocky.  You  couldn't  hear  or  see 
anything  but  the  pine  trees  moving  and  the  night 
shadows  twisting  under  them.  Before  I  got  out 
of  bed  in  the  morning  the  Ridge  seemed  like  the 
hills  where  men  went  to  meet  their  God  and  con- 
quer Satan.  By  and  by  I  began  to  dread  it,  it  was 
so  lonely  and  so  hard.  That  was  in  September — 
you  know  how  warm  and  wet  it  was — there  were 


THE   CONFESSION  141 

fogs,  too.  When  we  were  there  so  early  in  the 
morning  the  clouds  drifted  down  through  the 
trees ;  the  fog  drifted  up  from  the  valley ;  it  was 
like  racing  on  a  precipice  outside  the  world !  But 
I  wasn't  afraid  of  that;  even  with  the  real  things 
gone,  you,  home  and  Bowman,  I  wouldn't  have 
minded  if  I  had  been  with  Paul — like  Paul. 

"Long  ago  I  cared  most  about  our  likeness  to 
each  other.  He  was  just  ahead  of  me,  I  thought 
I  would  do  tomorrow  exactly  what  he  is  doing 
today.  Besides  being  my  hero  he  was  my  idol. 
I  felt  just  like  that,  at  first,  on  the  Ridge.  The 
test  would  make  us  act  together  and  he  would  see 
how  near  I  could  be  to  him.  Oh!  Then  I  saw 
the  difference  creep  between  us.  He  was  always 
trying  to  be  alone  and  I  was  always  trying  not 
to  be.  Suddenly,  one  morning,  I  felt  the  strangest 
thrill — I  began  to  be  afraid.  Yes,  dear,  I  was 
actually  frightened  at  the  little  pebbles  scuttling 
off  into  the  leaves  and  I  jumped  when  the  bushes 
closed  behind  me.  Yet  it  didn't  matter  much — 
I  wouldn't  let  it ! — until  I  lost  sight  of  him.  Then 
I  called  to  him,  I  couldn  't  help  it.  '  Oh,  Paul,  wait 
for  me,  I  want  you,  wait!' 

*'He  heard  me,  but  he  wouldn't  answer  and  his 
going  away  struck  me  as  so  awful  that  I  screamed, 
*  Wait !  wait ! '  until  I  couldn 't  hear  him  any  longer. 
I  didn't  dare  move ;  so  I  stayed  there  until  I  heard 
him  return.  I  thought  he  would  meet  me  in  the 
path,  but  instead  he  cut  across  among  the  trees. 
So  I  called  him  again, '  I  'm  all  alone !  Come !  I  'm 
here,  Paul.  Please  come!'  He  struck  the  path 
below  me.  I  waited  until  the  fog  lifted  before  I 
came  home.  He  w^asn't  a  coward  like  me;  he 
wouldn't  have  known  what  scared  me  so.  That 
is  one  of  the  differences.  A  man  goes  to  the  hills 
and  trees  to  be  his  greater  self,  to  be  alone  with 
his  natural  self.  It  sets  him  free,  he  glories  in  it 
because  he  has  conquered  it,  b,ut,  papa,  it  op- 


142  MUD  HOLLOW 

presses  a  woman  to  be  alone  like  that.  If  she  is 
sorrowful  she  shudders  as  if  she  were  swallowed 
by  a  huge  giant. 

''Toward  the  end  even  my  short  skirt  over- 
heated me.  Paul  looked  so  cool  in  his  white  run- 
ning clothes,  in  the  mists,  that  one  queer  morning 
I  stripped  my  sweater  and  ran  with  nothing  touch- 
ing me  but  a  few  drops  of  rain  that  trickled  down 
my  breast.  They  were  touching  Paul,  too ;  for  a 
time  it  was  glorious;  I  doubled  my  speed  and 
would  have  come  up  with  him,  but  reaching  a 
rough  place,  I  stumbled.  Just  as  I  was  winning! 
I  called, '  Oh,  Paul,  wait,  it  is  I ! '  He  looked  back 
and  we  saw  each  other  plainly,  for  the  fog  parted 
just  then.  He  stared  at  me  so  strangely!  He 
pressed  his  hands  to  his  eyes  and  stared  again. 
He  turned  his  head  away  as  if  to  leave  me  alto- 
gether. 

''Oh,  that  was  more  than  I  could  bear.  It 
seemed  as  if  my  heart  would  break.  I  threw  my- 
self down,  while  he,  wheeling  from  the  path  up 
the  south  slope,  dashed  among  piles  of  loose  stones 
which  came  rolling  do\\m  about  me.  One  even 
struck  me  on  the  forehead — see!  here's  the  mark 
under  my  hair. 

"That  completed  my  defeat.  'No,  no,'  I  said, 
'we  aren't  alike.  A  woman  may  not  even  follow 
her  hero  unless  he  chooses.'  " 

Ruth  paused  and  smiled  self-reproachfully  at 
her  father.  Her  question,  she  was  sure,  would 
fail  to  meet  his  expectations  of  what  his  daughter 
ought  to  feel.  He  did  not  answer,  neither  did  he 
seem  offended.  She  slipped  an  arm  around  his 
neck  and  whispered  against  his  cheek: 

"Ah,  it  is  good  to  be  woman.  It  is  good  to  be 
man.  I  was  not  sorry  that  God  had  put  his  hand 
between  to  hold  me  back — for  in  that  very  moment 
my  love  began  to  exult  in  the  splendor  of  his  body 
as  never  before.     Ah,  my  heart  leaped  up  that 


THE   CONFESSION  143 

great  ascent  with  him.  At  the  Trysting  Stone, 
mind!  at  the  Trysting  Stone,  he  did  not  pause  but 
was  over  and  away  so  perfectly  that  my  joy  and 
pride  followed  him — ^just  as  my  loneliness  and 
anger  had  done.  But  he  ought  to  know  how  much 
I  need  him.  Some  day!  Ah,  I  have  found  my 
womanhood  in  him — he  will  find  his  manhood  in 
me.  I  ran  no  more,  Father,  it  is  useless  to 
seek,  in  my  weakness  and  in  his  strength.  I  shall 
win  through  my  strength  and  his  weakness." 

She  walked  to  the  window  and  the  glow  of  the 
moon  deepened  the  flushed,  exultant  uplift  of  her 
fervor.  She  recalled  the  ecstatic  mingling  of  her 
spirit  with  Paul's  superb  body,  and  trembled  at 
the  door  of  revelations  which  only  the  freed 
woman  of  her  father's  ideal  could  know. 

Would  he  say  to  her,  "Oh,  woman,  blessed  above 
all  others,  you!  who  do  not  know  fear,  nor  have 
been  tortured  by  silence,  nor  have  wept  in  your 
sleep  lest  you  become  the  prey  of  men — open  this 
door  and  lead  your  sisters  in ! " 

For  him  such  a  summons  to  his  daughter  would 
have  been  the  conclusion  and  the  triumph  of  his 
faith,  the  justification  of  all  his  labor;  for  her  it 
would  have  been  the  trumpeting  opportunity  of 
her  life's  one  moment  of  supreme  enfranchise- 
ment. If  he  had  seen  her  face  he  would  have 
recognized  his  hour,  heavy  with  greatness. 

But  he  sat  with  head  bent  on  his  palm,  troubled 
with  her  remoteness.  He  knew  that  she  had  shown 
him  a  crystal  soul  into  whose  depths  he  could  not 
see,  a  garden  where  he  feared  to  go,  an  open  heart 
whose  inscriptions  were  in  a  new  tongue.  She 
was  a  temple  of  Exaltation  that  a  whisper  might 
rock  to  its  foundations;  and  he  must  speak.  He 
walked  about  the  room  twice,  touching  the  chair 
backs  and  moving  the  papers.  Stopping  beside 
her,  he  stroked  her  hair. 

''You  know  how  little  patience  I  have  enter- 


144  MUD  HOLLOW 

tained  toward  customs,  Ruth, ' '  he  said.  *  *  Most  of 
them  are  in  opposition  to  Nature,  especially 
those  that  have  to  do  with  women.  Some,  how- 
ever, as  time  passes,  approximate  the  natural 
process  and  among  them  are  those  regulating 
modern  marriage.  Men  no  longer  contend  with 
each  other  for  woman,  nor  does  she  wait  at  one 
side  of  the  arena  as  a  reward  for  victory.  She 
now  has  the  deciding  power,  which  is  more  in 
accordance  with  the  equality  we  wish  to  enforce. 
Men  must  ask.  It  follows  that  women  must  wait 
and  that " 

"Why!"  she  asked. 

''Because,"  he  answered  and  paused.  He 
coughed  and  repeated,  ''Because  it  is  evident,  I 
mean,  a  powerful  argument,  or  rather  a  striking 
analogy,  which  is  found  in  the  histories  of  all  ani- 
mal species.  Throughout  Nature's  kingdom  this 
law  holds,  and  it  ought  to  be  regarded  in  human 
society,  not  as  an  unreasonable  custom,  but  as  a 
natural  restraint  imposed  for  the  good  of  the 
race.    Nature  must  care  for  the  tomorrows." 

' '  But  there  is  no  tomorrow  in  love, ' '  she  cried. 
"Love  is  today.  It  is  a  real  thing  that  cannot 
wait.  It  isn't  a  prospect  or  a  protection  for  a 
species.  It  is  a  hope  for  yourself  and  him!  A 
woman  can't  wait — she  must  move  in  his  direc- 
tion— to  his  possession." 

"But,  my  darling  child,"  he  answered  desper- 
ately, "possession  cannot  make  a  legal  bond.  If 
a  man  love  a  woman  truly  and  desire  her  for  his 
own,  if  she  is  to  remain  good,  he  will  not  take 
her  except  in  marriage  at  the  altar  of  the  church. 
Remember  that!" 

Ruth  laughed  in  her  rich  alto  and  leaned 
against  her  father's  arm.  Pageants  of  struggle 
and  conquest  swept  past  her,  joyful  cries  of  hero- 
ines to  their  onrushing  heroes  came  to  her  ears. 


THE   CONFESSION  145 

The  pageants  and  the  valors  were  all  Paul's,  the 
heroines  were  all  herself,  waiting  hungrily. 

''Love  is  a  better  bond  than  marriage.  I  shall 
bind  him  not  by  law  but  by  beauty. ' ' 

Her  father  groaned  aloud,  panic-stricken  be- 
cause he  could  not  escape  the  hollow  platitudes 
to  find  the  word  that  would  arrest.  He  could  not 
convince  either  himself  or  her,  for  she  did  not 
listen,  and  at  the  edge  of  his  brief  puerilities 
his  faculties  refused  the  whip.  Every  approach 
to  his  daughter  was  barred  by  defensive  axioms 
of  his  owTi  pro"sdding.  The  face  against  his  arm 
pressed  with  an  alien  and  a  heavier  weight;  a 
moment  passed  in  silence  and  she  became  a 
stranger  in  her  bright,  confident  pose,  her  bold, 
callow  unmoralities,  the  swimming  nerv- 
ousness of  her  dusky  unfathomable  eyes — in 
every  quality  she  frightened  and  bewildered  him. 
Were  there  only  cool  shallows  there — the  unex- 
pected barren  shallows  of  a  false  code,  or  were 
there  deeps — warm  deeps  palpitating  with  the 
pregnant  life  of  undiscovered  truth? 

Hot  tears  seared  his  eyeball,  which  Euth  did 
not  notice  until  a  sob  tore  from  his  cbest.  She 
cried  out  inarticulately  as  a  mother  over  her 
hurt  child,  and  tried  to  loosen  his  clenched 
fingers.  With  her  arm  around  him  she  urged 
him  to  his  chair  and  sat  beside  him  until  he 
quieted  himself.  Then  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  and  said,  "I  was  thinking  of  your  mother, 
child,  and  of  my  stewardship  to  her.    You  need 

her — she  would  understand  where  I  cannot " 

He  pressed  his  lips  together  to  check  the  rising 
storm.  ''She  lay  dying  and  said — that  she  could 
not  take  God's  hand  and  follow  home  unless  I 
waited  here  to  show  you  the  road  to  womanhood. 
My  Ruth,  I  have  always  thought  she  meant  that 
you  should  be  free  and  should  escape  sorrow. 
So  I  named  you  in  my  fanciful  pride  'The  Girl 


146  MUD  HOLLOW 

without  Tears,'  and  planned  tliat  you  should  in- 
deed be  too  happy  to  weep  as  other  women  do. 
Oh,  my  little  girl,  your  mother  died  happily  only 
when  she  deputed  me  to  guard  you  from  the 
knowledge  of  evil.  How  shall  we  bear  it,  if 
through  me  any  harm — if  I  let  you  take  a  careless 
step — if  the  flesh  of  my  flesh  should  some  day 
curse  its  mother?  What  shall  I  say  to  you  then? 
What  shall  I  say  to  her?  There  is  much  of 
which  I  have  never  spoken  to  you.  I  believed 
you  too  young,  or  I  hoped  you  would  never  need 
the  knowledge."  He  looked  up  at  the  picture  on 
the  wall  and  cried,  ''Oh,  that  we  could  have  her 
modesty.  She  waited  and  let  me  come.  Such  is 
God's  law.  The  way  He  protects  the  purity  of 
women.    .     .     ." 

The  girl  shook  off  his  arm,  sprang  angrily  to 
the  other  side  of  the  table  and  stood  a  monument 
of  defiance.  "Must  I  wait  because  she  waited? 
Must  girls  do  as  their  mothers  did?  Are  they 
to  take  no  part  in  evolution  ?  Have  they  no  other 
end  than  to  become  pictures  on  the  wall?" 

She  looked  up  to  her  mother  and  cried — 
"Mother,  mother,  help  me  to  break  my  bonds, 
bonds  you  perhaps  never  felt.  They  hurt,  they 
burn.  I  am  of  the  world  and  I  want  to  grow  as 
the  trees  grow,  to  distance  the  flowers  in  my 
beauty,  to  bear  more  fruit  than  the  grain  of  the 
field.  I  want  the  best,  I  want  Paul.  Help  me 
to  get  him!" 

"Speak  not  so  to  your  mother,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor in  a  severe  tone  he  never  before  had  used. 
"She  helps  not  through  work  but  through  crea- 
tive joy.  Oh,  Ida!  lift  us  to  thy  level  where 
smiles  make  the  world  as  clouds  adorn  the  sky. 
Lift  us  from  flesh  to  spirit,  from  the  dross  of 
earth  to  a  celestial  purity." 

While  he  stood  absorbed  in  his  adoration  Ruth 
moved  behind  the  table  and  retorted  with  savage 


THE   CONFESSION  147 

vehemence,  "0  fie  with  your  philosophy!  You 
think  me  a  man  in  the  making ;  but  I  am  a  woman 
with  all  the  charms  God  gave  her.  You  don't 
believe  it,  you  won't  see.  But  you  must  see!  I 
am  flesh  on  the  road  to  God,  but  still  I  am  flesh 
with  the  beauty  of  the  lily  and  the  tree.  They 
don't  hide  their  beauty,  why  should  I?  I  am 
their  rival  and  like  them  I  am  of  today.  The 
rose  cannot  wait  for  autumn  nor  the  tree  for 
the  winter  blast.  They  must  show  their  beauty 
in  the  summer  or  shrivel  unseen.  I  am  like  them, 
breathing  the  summer  air,  having  all  health  can 
give.  You  don't  believe  it,  you  are  skeptical,  so 
far  away  in  the  land  of  dreams  that  reality  fades. 
Come  back;  put  your  feet  on  solid  earth;  and 
look!" 

With  one  hand  she  lifted  her  concealing  hair 
from  her  neck,  with  the  other  she  shook  her 
kimona  more  free  from  her  shoulders  and  caught 
it  loosely  again  beneath  her  breasts.  The  old 
man  stared  a  moment  and  then  with  a  startled 
cry  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  comprehended,  he 
was  back  on  earth.  What  stood  before  him  was 
not  Ida,  gentle  and  meek,  but  defiant  flesh  and 
blood  so  earthly  that  it  colored  her  cheek  and 
all  her  bosom  with  a  consuming  flame. 

Had  he  bred  a  scorpion  instead  of  a  girl?  Had 
he  held  a  serpent  on  his  breast  which  now  would 
sting  and  bite?  Away  with  her!  was  his  first 
impulse.  Clenching  liis  hand  he  seemed  about  to 
execute  his  threat.  There  was  a  disposition  to 
strike  which  he  had  not  felt  since  that  Virginia 
campaign  when  destruction  was  his  joy.  All  this 
had  lain  dormant  since  the  day  of  his  illumina- 
tion. He  thought  it  dead.  He  even  argued  that 
it  was  not  a  part  of  human  nature. 

But  it  was  not  dead.  Heredity  never  dies,  no 
matter  how  dormant  it  rests.  He  was  heredity 
even  if  he  were  unconscious  of  it.    Now  he  was  a 


148  MUD  HOLLOW 

soldier  again.  He  put  Ms  hand  to  his  side  as  if 
he  would  grasp  his  sword.  When  hate  comes  all 
else  flees.  Those  who  would  kill  harden  their 
hearts  so  that  brutality  seems  justice.  But  his 
passion  was  too  strong  for  a  man  of  his  years. 
It  made  his  brain  whirl.  As  the  reddened  cheek 
turned  pale,  he  dropped  into  his  chair  a  helpless 
wreck. 

While  he  advanced  the  girl  stood  defiant,  but 
when  he  fell,  here  heredity  took  a  sudden  twist. 
It  threw  the  woman  in  the  foreground,  the  woman 
who  may  be  beautiful  or  ugly  but  still  is  heart. 
Her  anger  left  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  She  was 
no  longer  beauty  but  sympathy,  pity,  endurance 
and  love.  They  all  swelled  up,  threw  her  pas- 
sionate self-reliance  out  the  window.  The  inner 
dominated  the  outer.  Springing  to  her  accus- 
tomed place  on  his  lap,  she  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  showered  his  face  with  kisses,  crying, 
**You  are  all  I  have  and  all  I  want.  We  are  not 
father  and  daughter,  we  are  one." 

The  old  man,  coming  to  himself,  smiled.  His 
philosophy  came  back  but  it  leaked  at  one  point. 
He  could  no  longer  see  that  beauty  was  virtue. 
He  had  dropped  to  the  level  on  which  Mrs.  Dick- 
son stood. 

Men  can  repent  but  sin  leaves  its  stain.  They 
can  wash  it  away  but  may  never  again  be  pure. 
They  can  look  from  Nebo's  heights  but  they  can- 
not enter  the  promised  land.  He  now  thought  in 
terms  of  discipline  and  not  of  love.  Women 
should  be  free  but  they  should  not  chase  men. 
He  drew  her  to  him  and  made  a  final  appeal. 
There  was  no  rhetoric  in  it  since  it  came  from 
his  heart.  He  told  her  of  her  mother,  of  her 
innocence  and  purity,  of  her  dAdng  hope  that 
Ruth  should  lead  the  good  life.  This  the  old  man 
had  always  interpreted  to  mean  freedom  and  the 
absence  of  sorrow,  but  now  his  wife's  words  had 


THE   CONFESSION  149 

a  fuller  meaning,  and  he  put  his  new  thought  to 
Buth  with  force. 

When  he  touched  on  the  disgrace  that  wrong 
steps  involved,  Ruth  interrupted  him.  Tears 
were  in  her  eyes;  a  downcast  look  on  her  face. 

"Father,"  she  cried,  "I  see  what  you  mean.  I 
shall  never  disgrace  you,  never,  never.  But,  oh, 
papa,  don't  say  any  more.    It  hurts." 

At  this  she  sank  back  in  his  arms,  a  helpless 
bundle.  All  the  life  had  gone  out  because  hope 
had  disappeared.  It  meant  that  Paul  must  be 
given  up,  for  Paul  would  not  come  if  let  alone. 
Heroes  have  so  much  to  do  that  girls  have  no 
place  in  their  plans.  This  was  Ruth's  picture  of 
them ;  for  her  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  following 
Paul  meant  for  her  to  lose  him.  That  was  abject 
misery  with  no  source  of  consolation.  Some  re- 
lief came  in  a  flood  of  tears  but  the  feeling  of 
despair  sank  deeper  and  deeper;  each  new  chord 
that  it  struck  sent  forth  a  quiver  that  shook  her 
whole  frame.  Grasp  her  as  tightly  as  he  could, 
her  father  could  not  keep  the  convulsive  motions 
from  running  over  her.  They  ran  as  if  they 
were  alive  and  knew  they  were  telling  a  sad  tale 
to  each  center  to  which  they  came. 

He  drew  her  closer  and  tried  to  console  her. 
*'Paul  will  come,"  he  said,  "if  you  wait.  He  will 
in  good  time  want  a  wife  and  then  he  will  see 
you  in  another  light."  The  old  man  did  really 
hope  this,  but  his  words  gave  no  consolation  to 
Ruth. 

"No,  father,"  she  cried,  "Paul  will  never 
come.    He  will  write  a  book." 

Then  she  slipped  down  upon  her  knees  before 
him  as  she  had  often  done  as  a  child.  "Oh,  God, 
bless  Paul  and  help  him  write  his  book." 

Rising  to  her  feet,  she  said,  "I  will  give  him 
up,  father.     Let  him  work  here.     I  will  do  no 


150  MUD  HOLLOW 

more  than  watch  him  through  the  crack  of  the 
door." 

She  staggered,  for  her  strength  was  gone,  and 
would  have  fallen  if  her  father  had  not  caught 
her.  While  submission  was  the  mandate  of  the 
will,  the  yearning  soul  did  not  obey.  The  tears 
flowed,  the  convulsions  continued  and  the  tremb- 
ling seemed  to  increase. 

It  was  not  an  occasion  for  words.  The  father 
had  won  but  at  what  a  cost  to  his  philosophy  and 
to  her  feelings.  He  sat  holding  her  long,  ever 
so  long,  how  long  he  never  knew.  AVhen  he  came 
to  himself  he  held  a  sleeping  girl.  There  were 
tears  but  they  had  dried  on  her  cheeks.  Kissing 
the  sleeping  girl  he  put  her  softly  on  the  couch. 

But  as  he  did  a  mysterious  voice  cried, 
*' Shame,  shame,  to  bring  tears  to  a  girl's  eyes! 
Who  art  thou  who  judgest?  'Tis  nature  not 
man  that  keeps  woman  pure." 

He  looked  up  with  surprise.  It  seemed  like 
Ida's  voice.  But  the  picture  was  silent.  Again 
as  he  looked  at  the  girl  the  voice  cried,  "Shame, 
shame,  shame!"  He  put  his  hand  on  his  heart 
and  knew  that  the  voice  came  from  within. 

It  was  conscience.  Since  his  illumination  his 
deeds  and  his  ideals  had  followed  the  same  path. 
Then  conscience  has  no  place,  but  the  moment 
men  fall  it  awakes  to  new  vigor,  calling  even  the 
proudest  to  account.  They  say  a  drowning  man 
sees  the  scroll  of  his  life  pass  before  him  as  he 
sinks.  So  it  was  with  the  Professor  as  he 
dropped  from  heaven  to  the  miry  earth  on  which 
he  had  sworn  he  never  would  stand.  His  girl 
should  be  without  tears  and  he  was  the  first  to 
make  her  cry.  Woman  is  God's  noblest  creation. 
Wait  until  the  occasion  arises  and  see  the  beauty 
of  her  mechanism.  He  had  refused  to  wait.  Use 
hammers  and  sledges,  but  not  a  woman  for  crush- 
ing rock.    Now  he  had  struck  a  blow,  made  scars. 


THE   CONFESSION  151 

He  looked  up  at  Ida  but  for  once  found  no  relief 
in  her  smile.  He  peered  down  at  the  girl  whose 
body  seemed  mangled  and  torn.  Turning  to  the 
window  he  gazed  out  where  the  moon  danced  on 
the  leaves,  where  stillness  reigned  and  dewdrops 
glittered.  He  stood  for  the  first  time  among  the 
goats  on  the  hillside,  fenced  out  from  the  fertile 
fields  below.  Such  was  his  isolation,  such  his 
agony  for  distrusting  God's  processes,  refusing 
to  let  heredity  do  its  work — for  thinking  re- 
straints were  better  than  instincts.  Oli,  w4iat  a 
failure  is  man  when  he  would  better  nature's 
processes;  how  oft  in  his  crudeness  he  destroys 
what  he  had  hoped  to  build. 

A  transgression  like  the  Professor's  seems 
trivial;  yet  to  those  who  ascend  the  heights  this 
fall  creates  a  keener  reaction  than  when  sinners 
break  the  whole  decalogue.  Think  of  Moses  shut 
from  the  promised  land  for  one  misdeed.  AVhat 
remorse  he  must  have  had;  to  what  depth  of 
misery  he  must  have  descended. 

This  agony,  this  depression,  this  isolation,  the 
Professor  felt.  His  frame  shook,  his  bosom 
heaved,  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  Oh,  if  he  had 
had  more  patience.  If  he  had  let  nature  teach 
Ruth  her  lesson  instead  of  trying  to  hasten 
natural  processes.  Why  did  he  not  permit  the 
flower  to  turn  into  fruit  in  its  o^vn  slow  way? 
Sackcloth  and  ashes,  a  penitent  knocking  at  the 
gate,  he  saw  the  moon  redoubling  its  energy, 
make  the  scattering  clouds  radiant  with  its  glow. 
Above,  the  leaves  flashed  messages  of  love;  be- 
low, the  tips  of  grass  rolled  waves  of  light  across 
the  lawn. 

''Nature  is  perfect,"  he  cried  through  his 
tears;  "why  should  man  mar  its  beauty?" 


152  MUD  HOLLOW 

XV 

The  Run 

After  Mr.  Dickson  left  the  second  time  Paul 
sat  on  his  bed  and  meditated.  A  deep  fear  smote 
him,  a  haunting  dread  of  what  was  come.  He 
knew  the  crisis  was  at  hand.  The  situation  could 
no  longer  be  hidden.  What  should  he  do? 
Defend  Ruth!  tell  her  father?  or  go  away?  He 
had  two  positions  open  to  him,  either  of  which 
would  give  him  the  peace  of  mind  Bowman  no 
longer  offered.  But  should  he  desert  a  difficult 
post?  Should  he  destroy  the  Professor's  en- 
chanting outlook  by  telling  the  facts?  The  book 
— the  great  book — the  only  book — was  it  to  be 
left  incomplete?  And  the  girl — the  puzzling  girl 
— the  wild,  pursuing  one — could  he  leave  her  to 
fall  into  other  hands  and  meet  the  ignoble  fate 
which  girls  of  her  type  face?  He  could  not  bear 
the  thought.  He  clenched  his  fist  as  he  decided 
what  he  would  do  if  some  one  should  take  advan- 
tage of  her  inexperience.  No,  that  must  never 
happen.  He  must  earn  his  title  as  defender  of 
women  by  staying  at  his  post.  He  would  say  this, 
strike  his  jaws  to  show  his  determination,  throw 
himself  on  his  pillow  and  try  to  sleep.  But 
when  he  barely  closed  his  eyes  a  whole  series  of 
Ruths  came  tumbling  through  the  window.  He 
would  no  sooner  fix  the  clothes  of  one  before  a 
dozen  lay  on  the  floor  with  the  same  need  of 
attention.  If  he  rebuked  they  became  angry, 
turned  handsprings  out  the  window,  made  their 
exposure  greater  than  ever.  TLey  left  innumer- 
able shoes  behind  which  he  had  ceaseless  diffi- 
culty in  hiding.  If  he  succeeded,  out  of  each  shoe 
came  a  Ruth,  leaping  and  dancing  as  she  did  the 
night  of  the  argument.    They  came  through  the 


THE  RUN  153 

■window,  through  the  transom,  sprang  from  his 
wardrobe,  stared  at  him  from  the  foot  of  the 
bed — all  saying,  '  *  Come ! ' '  holding  out  their  arms 
and  showing  their  sunlit  orbs  and  round,  white 
bodies. 

There  were  hundreds  of  them.  If  all  Euth's 
ancestors  came  to  her  aid  in  her  mystic  dance,  all 
Paul's  ancestors  came  before  him  as  he  lay  in 
agony.  Was  it  a  case  of  ancestral  memory,  was 
it  dreams?  Some  people  say  they  never  slept 
when  they  were  asleep  for  hours.  Others  say 
they  slept,  and  dreamt,  when  their  eyes  were 
open.  Can  spirits  come  at  midnight  to  haunt  us 
or  does  our  mental  mechanism  cast  up  visions 
so  vivid  that  they  have  the  appearance  of  reality? 
Wise  philosophers  may  be  able  to  answer  these 
questions  but  most  of  us  cannot.  The  out  that 
comes  in  and  the  in  that  goes  out  are  too  much 
blended,  too  much  alike  for  ordinary  people  to 
classify.  Still  less  could  Paul,  without  any  guid- 
ing string  but  his  own  impulse.  Paul  had 
never  dreamt  before,  he  always  slept.  Nothing 
happened  between  the  time  his  head  struck  the 
pillow  and  the  sound  of  the  bell  which  woke.  All, 
therefore,  was  new  to  him,  all  real  and  vivid. 
Springing  up  he  would  drive  a  horde  of  girls  out 
of  his  presence  but  as  he  turned  a  new  group 
would  stare  him  in  the  face,  taunting  him,  as 
before. 

Paul  had  seen  but  one  image — ^his  mother.  He 
saw  her  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  in  the  dash 
across  the  football  field,  in  the  woods  as  he  ran, 
and  in  his  lecture  room.  Now  he  could  not  see 
her.  If  he  called,  a  dozen  Ruths  answered.  If 
he  sprang  forward  to  embrace  mother,  he  found 
that  he  had  a  Ruth  in  his  arms.  Hour  after  hour 
went  by  in  this  struggle.  He  became  ruder, 
threw  them  out  the  window.  But  they  came  back 
in  hordes.     He  dropped  on  his  bed  weary  and 


154  MUD  HOLLOW 

faint.  He  could  endure  no  longer.  Euth  had 
driven  liim  from  the  study.  Then  she  haunted 
the  woods  with  her  naked  image.  Now  she  had 
broken  into  his  room  and  made  sleep  impossible. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  him.  Exercise  puri- 
fies ;  it  clears  the  head  and  lifts  the  thought.  The 
troubling  Euth  he  had  often  escaped  by  long 
runs.  In  his  depressed  moods  he  would  chal- 
lenge a  friend  to  a  cross-country  run  and  clear 
the  humor  from  the  blood  by  sweat  and  toil. 
Euth  could  follow,  did  follow,  but  she  would  tire. 
On  the  mountain-top  he  would  be  free.  This  he 
had  done  twenty  times  and  found  the  peace  for 
which  he  sought.  He  would  try  again.  Never 
would  he  yield  if  a  million  Euths  thronged  his 
path.  His  quest  was  for  mother,  not  half -dressed 
girls. 

Filled  with  this  thought,  he  leaped  from  the 
window,  ran  across  the  campus  and  was  soon  on 
the  forest-lined  ridge  road.  But  he  did  not  es- 
cape. Eun  as  he  would,  she  was  always  at  his 
shoulder,  her  bare  form  was  always  in  view. 
Cries  of,  ''Wait,  wait,  it  is  I,  Euth,"  rang  in 
his  ears.  If  he  turned  quickly  to  avoid  her,  she 
was  equally  alert.  The  phantom  Euth  gained  in 
strength  and  agility  more  rapidly  than  he. 

As  he  rushed  along  matters  grew  worse.  The 
woods  resounded  with  cries  of,  ' '  Paul,  Paul,  wait. 
It  is  I.  Wait  for  Euth."  When  he  heeded  not 
the  piteous  appeals,  duplicating  Euths  began  to 
appear  in  the  woods  beside  and  before  him.  They 
even  lay  in  his  path  and  blocked  his  way.  Soon 
a  Avhole  troupe  seemed  to  be  following  him,  filling 
the  woods  with  their  cries.  But  Paul  held  firmly 
to  his  plan.  He  was  stronger  than  they;  they 
must  in  the  end  tire;  he  cast  off  his  impeding 
garments;  the  sweat  poured  in  streams  down 
his  face  and  sides.  But  he  never  halted,  not  even 
to  drink.     Were  they  real  Euths  he  would  tire 


THE  RUN  155 

them;  were  they  phantom,  Ruth-disturbing  mi- 
ages  which  came  from  internal  impurity,  he  would 
cast  them  out  with  his  sweat.  Paul  held  to  his 
theories  and  relied  on  his  stubborn  will  to  carry 
them  into  execution. 

His  body  responded  nobly  to  the  demands  of 
the  will.  Each  part  did  its  work  silently  but 
thoroughly.  There  were  no  failures  nor  any 
signs  of  insurrection.  His  was  a  great  mechan- 
ism, the  long  product  of  heredity.  Millions  of 
antecedent  muscles  and  nerves  were  reflected  in 
their  present  representatives;  they  would  have 
been  proud  if  they  were  conscious  of  what  their 
descendants  were  doing.  Heredity  could  also 
have  been  proud  of  her  work ;  how  at  last  she  had 
formed  a  perfect  physical  man.  What  matters 
it  what  Paul  wanted  to  do?  The  perfection  of 
his  parts  was  still  an  object  of  wonder  and  de- 
light. Do  we  cease  to  admire  a  cathedral  because 
it  is  useless,  a  huge  dreadnaught  because  it  is 
destructive,  a  train  of  Pullman  cars  because  it 
carries  tourists?  No,  we  admire  perfection  in 
any  form;  the  human  frame  never  ceases  to  be 
a  matter  of  wonder  even  if  its  possessor  turns 
it  to  some  wasting  use. 

So  it  was  with  Paul  as  he  dashed  along  in  his 
vain  endeavor  to  escape  his  fancies  by  over- 
working his  bodily  mechanism.  He  mounted 
hills,  leaped  rocks,  jumped  ravines,  forded  creeks, 
ran  across  meadows,  sprang  over  fences,  crossed 
door  yards  and  swam  lakes.  Every  expedient  to 
rid  himself  of  the  phantom  Ruths  was  tried  but 
all  in  vain;  they  could  not  be  out-run.  Then  he 
turned  on  them  in  anger,  chased  them,  threw 
stones  and  swung  cudgels.  They  ran  back  if  he 
approached,  taunted  him,  increased  their  brazen 
appearance,  even  throwing  their  arms  about  him. 
The  whole  atmosphere  seemed  full  of  Ruths. 
They  came  from  the  clouds,  dropped  down  out 


156  MUD  HOLLOW 

of  the  trees,  rose  up  out  of  the  earth,  all  with  the 
same  cry  and  with  the  same  appeal. 

Man  is  will,  woman  is  love.  Between  the  two 
there  is  an  eternal  conflict.  Instinctively  the 
man  avoids  the  woman,  and  a  woman's  instincts 
are  equally  those  of  approach.  Just  as  Ruth's 
ancestry  freed  from  restraint  came  out  of  her  to 
aid  in  her  dance,  so  Paul's  ancestral  fears 
pouring  out  of  him  were  objectified  in  a  thousand 
Ruths.  He  saw  what  his  forbears  saw,  feared 
what  they  feared,  willed  what  they  willed.  He  was 
no  longer  himself,  but  his  ancestry  coursing 
through  his  blood  and  reshaping  his  vision.  Oh, 
what  a  power  is  heredity  and  what  curious  ways 
she  has  in  enforcing  her  mandates. 

Evolution  works  backward,  thwarts  the  ends 
she  seeks  to  attain.  The  easy  path  she  never 
takes;  turning  trees  upside  down,  she  makes  the 
branches  do  the  work  of  roots  while  the  root  raised 
in  the  air  must  grow  leaves.  If  nature  in  its  lower 
forms  follows  crooked  paths,  even  more  curious 
are  the  ways  by  wliich  she  has  promoted  the 
growth  of  intellect.  She  gives  to  man  an  heredity 
which  is  unchangeable  and  yet  forces  liim  to 
change.  When  changes  come  in  spite  of  heredity, 
the  new  heredity  is  an  even  greater  obstacle  to 
progress  than  the  old.  The  impossible  must  al- 
ways be  surmounted  and  when  surmounted  a  new 
impossibility  replaces  its  predecessor. 

This  is  the  implacable  contest  between  will  and 
heredity.  Nature  gives  both;  both  grow;  each 
new  conflict  is  more  severe  than  its  predecessor. 
Will  is  always  striving  to  do  impossible  things. 
What  cannot  be  done  must  be  done,  even  if  hered- 
ity imposes  insuperable  obstacles.  Thus  the  con- 
test has  raged  from  the  time  the  first  amoeba 
strove  to  encircle  its  food.  It  had  no  legs,  arms 
or  teeth,  yet  it  reached  out,  gathered  and  fed. 
AVhat  was  more  impossible  than  that  a  grub  could 


THE   RUN  157 

fly?  Eating  leaves  and  growing  fat  seemed  to  be 
all  that  heredity  permitted.  Yet  the  grub  said, ' '  I 
will  fly, ' '  and  he  kept  trying  for  ages  and  at  last 
became  a  butterfly  soaring  in  the  sunshine  m  spite 
of  heredity's  dictates.  The  fish  looked  out  on  the 
dry  land  and  said,  "I  want  to  walk."  Heredity 
said,  ^'No,"  but  the  fish  struggled  on  and  at  length 
attained  his  wish.  The  horse  had  five  toes,  lived 
in  a  swamp  and  could  only  jump  about  like  a  frog. 
But  the  horse  said,  "I  want  to  run,  I  am  tired  of 
wading  in  the  mud."  Heredity  again  said,  "No, 
those  who  jump  and  wade  must  always  jump  and 
wade.  Do  what  your  ancestors  did  and  be  con- 
tent." But  the  horse  kept  on  trying  to  run  and 
at  length  he  shook  off  four  of  his  toes,  lived  on 
the  prairie  and  became  the  fleetest  of  animals. 

Will  is  on  the  road  from  dust  to  God ;  heredity 
is  petrified  dust,  always  repeating  but  never  mov- 
ing. It  knows  no  road,  refusing  to  go  forward  or 
backward.  When  man  appeared,  heredity  got 
more  obstinate  and  said,  "I  shall  fix  you  so  that 
nothing  you  want  can  ever  be  attained.  Your  acts 
can  have  no  influence  on  your  structure."  This 
unchangeable  germ  cell  was  a  happy  thought,  one 
that  seemed  to  thwart  every  wish  a  man  might 
make.  Heredity  permitted  a  mechanism  by  which 
wishes  could  be  made — and  then  deprived  man  of 
any  means  of  attaining  them.  Heredity  thus  made 
man  a  treadmill,  always  struggling  to  get  on  but 
never  forging  ahead. 

It  is  this  situation  which  the  human  will  must 
face.  The  insuperable  must  be  surmounted;  the 
impossible  done.  It  is  easy  to  be  a  man  if  he  does 
what  heredity  demands.  If  he  accept  his  chains, 
he  can  eat,  drink  and  be  happy.  He  can  wish  but 
he  cannot  reach  out  to  get  what  he  wants.  Prog- 
ress may  come  but,  if  so,  it  will  come  by  some 
fortuitous  circumstance  over  which  acts  and 
wishes  have  no  control.     Yet  biology  overlooks 


158  MUD  HOLLOW 

ivill.  It  can  stain  the  various  layers  of  the  germ 
cell  but  since  this  will  cannot  be  found  under 
the  microscope,  biology  denies  its  existence.  Yet 
will  is  as  old  as  the  germ  cell  and  wishes  are  al- 
ways fulfilled.  This  is  not  science,  but  fact.  Will 
surmounts  obstacles  and  breaks  through  the 
meshes  by  which  heredity  would  thwart  the  wisli 
for  which  it  strives. 

The  great  struggle  between  biology  and  man  is 
that  the  supreme  interest  of  biology  is  in  repro- 
duction, while  man  seeks  to  change  himself  from 
dust  to  soul.  He  wants  to  rise  above  sex  and 
reach  the  land  where  all  is  soul.  Men  are  dragged 
back  into  sex  relations  but  each  generation  strives 
harder  to  rise  above  them.  The  more  impossible 
it  is  for  will  to  attain  this  end,  the  harder  do  men 
try  to  reach  it.  All  history  is  colored  by  this  de- 
sire. Eeligion  would  be  nothing  but  a  sham  if  this 
supreme  wish  did  not  lie  back  of  it.  "Women  are 
the  root  of  all  evil ! ' '  cried  the  prophet ;  man  tries 
to  shut  them  out  not  only  of  his  life  but  of  his 
Paradise.  He  fails,  of  course,  but  the  next  genera- 
tion rises  still  higher  and  pushes  women  a  little 
farther  out  of  their  life,  perhaps.  He  can  delay 
surrender  even  if  he  cannot  avoid  it. 

So  will  acts  in  man.  To  woman  will  also  sets 
impossible  tasks.  If  man  will  not  have  her,  he 
must  have  her.  She  thwarts  every  effort  of  man 
to  get  away  from  her  by  becoming  more  attractive 
and  charming.  The  spell  of  woman  is  ever  grow- 
ing but  as  it  grows  more  drastic,  man  thwarts  it 
by  forcing  woman  to  hide  her  charms.  He  covers 
her  body,  even  her  face,  but  despite  all,  the  spell 
which  woman  casts  on  man  grows.  This  is 
not  a  defeat  of  will,  but  its  growth.  The  woman 
who  will  accept  any  man  is  will-less.  To  gain  in 
will  she  must  refuse  the  man  she  can  get  and  de- 
mand the  man  she  cannot  get.    She  must  struggle 


THE  EUN  159 

for  the  impossible  and  man  must  strive  to  avoid 
the  inevitable. 

This  is  evolution's  plan  to  thwart  heredity. 
When  both  sexes  want  the  impossible,  they  rise 
above  the  dust  from  whence  they  came.  The  prin- 
ciple reveals  itself  in  the  contest  between  Ruth 
and  Paul.  Both  represent  the  struggle  between 
will  and  heredity,  showing  what  men  and  women 
would  do  if  convention  did  not  tie  them  to  the  past 
of  the  race.  Custom,  habit  and  tradition  help 
heredity  and  make  for  most  people  so  unequal  a 
contest  that  they  deem  their  habits  as  natural, 
while  regarding  will  as  a  myth  or  at  least  as 
false  tendency  to  be  thwarted  by  force.  We  often 
hear  of  breaking  a  child's  will  as  a  necessary  pro- 
cess in  his  development.  So  it  is  if  the  tendency 
to  self-expression  is  to  be  curbed.  Will  seeks  the 
impossible  and  gets  it. 

Paul  had  this  will ;  he  was  determined  to  reach 
his  goal.  He  had  never  failed.  Of  the  doctrine 
of  moderation  he  had  never  heard  nor  did  he 
realize  the  slowness  of  natural  processes.  The 
Professor  had  taught  him  evolution,  much  of 
which  he  accepted.  But  Paul  was  will,  not  thought ; 
action,  not  meditation;  a  dreamer,  not  a  plodder. 
He  saw  visions,  not  facts ;  ends,  not  means.  What 
he  saw  must  be  done,  what  he  began — must  be 
finished. 

So  on  he  went,  taxing  his  muscles  to  their  limit. 
Across  fields,  over  ditches,  through  door  yards,  up 
and  down  hill,  dodging  and  turning  to  escape  the 
soft  onrush  of  the  running  feet  he  could  always 
hear  in  the  rear.  The  chickens  scattered  as  he  ran 
across  farm  yards,  the  dogs  barked  and  followed 
long  distances,  the  cattle  in  the  field  circled  about 
their  enclosure,  people  rushed  to  the  door  to  see 
the  source  of  the  excitement. 

At  first  they  viewed  it  as  some  new  college 
prank,  but  in  distant  places  where  students  were 


160  MUD  HOLLOW 

•unknown  they  mistook  the  dashing  athlete  for  a 
madman  trying  to  escape  his  fancies.  What  Paul 
did  seemed  strange  enough,  but  rumor  and  re- 
peated retelling  soon  added  a  multitude  of  new 
versions  as  to  what  happened.  He  became  a  giant 
throwing  huge  rocks,  tearing  up  trees  by  the  roots 
and  hurling  them  at  imagined  foes. 

It  may  have  been  a  dream,  it  may  have  been 
merely  an  overwrought  vision,  but  in  any  case 
what  Paul  was  determined  to  do  was  adverse  to 
what  nature  strove.  His  personality  was  as  a 
result  divided  and  in  the  struggle  the  sense  of 
reality  was  lost.  His  body  lagged  but  his  mind 
went  on,  on.  Day  dreams  and  night  dreams  fol- 
low the  same  track.  Who  can  tell  which  track  he 
was  on  1  Both  thrill  with  adventure ;  both  rush  to 
fulfillment.  Only  a  cool  bystander  could  judge 
and  of  such  there  were  none.  Critics  are  wise  but 
the  scenes  come  and  go  before  they  get  their 
cameras  adjusted.  We  do  not  know  what  is  within 
lis  until  some  strange  event  throws  the  submerged 
into  the  saddle.  Then  ceasing  to  be  self  we  be- 
come ancestry,  seeing  what  they  saw,  doing  what 
they  did,  fearing  their  fears.  Dreams  are  half- 
way points  between  ourselves  and  our  past.  We 
curb  them  and  deride  them  but  our  suppressed 
ancestral  emotions  go  far  beyond.  Madness  is 
tameness  compared  with  the  uncanny  wildness 
which  our  repressed  ancestral  behests  evoke  when 
they  become  our  master. 

This  happened  to  Paul.  He  did  all  the  impos- 
sible things  our  ancesters  did  or  thought  was  done 
in  their  day.  Spirit  then  had  no  limits.  What 
conld  be  thought  w^as  done.  Wliy  cannot  we  re- 
peat their  experience,  gain  soul  freedom  and  be- 
come giants  doing  the  impossible?  We  could  if 
we  were  will  and  broke  the  fetters  which  servility 
has  fastened  on  us.  Afraid  of  ourselves,  we  do 
not  accept  the  evidence  of  our  senses  unless  our 


THE  RUN  161 

puny  neighbors  verify  our  visions  in  their  crude 
experience.  We  could  do  impossible  things  if  we 
kept  on  without  asking  our  neighbor.  Truth  never 
needs  more  than  one  witness.  What  two  see — or 
at  least  when  two  agree  that  they  saw — is  but  a 
miserable  fraction  of  the  whole  great  vision.  Na- 
ture never  appears  twice  in  the  same  form  nor  to 
two  sets  of  eyes.  Had  we  the  courage  to  accept 
its  revelations,  we  would  soon  lift  ourselves  to  the 
plane  of  the  impossible — the  impossible  to  slaves, 
of  easy  access  to  the  free. 

It  was  this  super-state  which  Paul  reached  after 
he  had  run  for  hours  and  sweated  all  the  dust- 
elements  from  his  veins.  Perhaps  he  did  not  do 
what  observers  asserted,  perhaps  he  did  more,  for 
they  saw  details  while  he  saw  the  whole.  To  them 
there  was  no  following  troupe  of  phantom  Ruths; 
they  saw  no  plan  in  his  movement ;  but  to  him  each 
feat  was  a  well-thought  effort  to  escape  his  tor- 
mentors. When  they  did  not  tire  through  mere 
fatigue  he  turned  on  them  and  mowed  them  down 
as  a  reaper  would  the  grain.  But  each  part 
sprang  to  its  feet  a  complete  Ruth.  He  saw  a 
thunder-cloud  in  the  distance  and  rushed  tow^ard 
it,  calling  to  the  lightning  to  smite  down  his  foes. 
It  did  and  hurled  bolts  in  rapid  succession  ui3on 
the  hillside.  Paul  emitted  a  shout  of  triumph. 
For  a  moment  he  seemed  free,  but  then  far  above 
the  cloud  appeared  innumerable  spots  each  of 
which  as  it  approached  became  a  train  of  cars  load- 
ed with  Ruths.  On  he  ran  until  he  saw  a  tall  tree 
which  seemed  to  reach  to  the  heavens.  This  he 
began  to  climb  but  the  horde  followed  him.  When 
the  top  was  reached,  they  sat  on  every  branch  and 
grinned  from  every  leaf.  He  jumped  in  fright  but 
they  leaped  also  and  reached  the  ground  before 
he  did.  On,  on  he  ran,  thinking  of  a  thousand  de- 
vices to  outwit  the  pursuers.    But  each  when  tried 


162  MUD  HOLLOW 

failed.  They  were  as  quick  to  surmount  difficulties 
as  he  was  to  invent  them. 

Just  as  the  sun  was  casting  a  glow  on  the  eve- 
ning clouds  he  came  suddenly  upon  an  impossible 
ravine.  It  was  a  bottomless  abyss,  on  the  other 
side  of  which  stood  a  huge  dormitory  where  men 
are  above  sex  temptation.  Oh,  how  many  prophets 
have  seen  this  glorious  land  in  the  distance.  Paul 
was  the  first  to  be  on  its  border.  A  single  leap 
and  he  would  be  safe.  One  more  bound  and  his 
end  would  be  attained.  A  cry  of  joy  escaped  from 
his  lips  and  his  will  sent  orders  to  all  parts  of  his 
body  to  make  the  final  leap.  Rushing  to  the  edge, 
he  sprang  with  a  bound  into  the  air.  It  was  an 
awful  leap,  greater  than  any  he  had  before  made; 
nobly  did  his  muscles  respond  to  his  bidding.^ 

As  he  rose,  something  snapped.  The  promised 
land  disappeared  and  darkness  came  instead  of 
light.  Whose  fault  was  it  ?  What  part  had  failed  ? 
None  could  tell,  for  they,  like  the  historic  one- 
horse  chaise,  all  fell  apart  at  the  same  instant. 
The  heart  stopped  beating,  the  blood  ceased  to 
flow  and  the  over-wrought  muscles  seemed  frozen 
entities  instead  of  parts  of  a  magnificent  whole. 
AVill  and  unity  went  with  the  darkness ;  Paul  was 
merely  a  mass  of  dismembered  parts,  each  lifeless 
and  dead. 

Nature  was  kind  to  Paul  in  his  failure.  It  was 
a  grassy  bank  down  which  he  rolled ;  at  the  bottom 
the  wind  had  gathered  a  mass  of  leaves  amid  the 
ferns  to  make  him  a  bed.  There  he  lay  stretched 
out  just  as  he  was  when  he  willed  the  mighty  leap. 
His  muscles,  though  disconnected,  showed  by  their 
tension  that  they  had  died  game.  The  face  still 
bore  a  look  of  fierce  determination;  the  veins  on 
his  arms  and  body  stood  out — filled  with  blood 
that  no  longer  moved  from  point  to  point,  Paul 
ceased  to  exist;  so  had  his  will.  Darkness  shut 
put  not  only  the  glory  he  hoped  for  but  the  horde 


THE  SHOCK  163 

from  which  he  tried  to  escape.  There  he  lay — 
helpless,  a  failure — and  yet,  if  you  had  seen  him 
amid  the  leaves  and  mosses,  you  would  have  said, 
' '  How  magnificent  an  animal ! ' '  Nature  had  done 
all  for  him  that  could  be  done  and  yet  he  could 
not  surmount  the  impossible. 

He  failed  where  washes  always  do,  just  at  the 
point  of  fulfillment. 

XVI 

The  Shock 

Fred  sat  at  his  window,  Bowman-fashion,  watch- 
ing the  flow  of  humanity  crossing  the  campus.  As 
Paul  swung  along  he  whistled  and  called. 

"Come  in,  haven't  seen  you  for  a  month.  What's 
up?" 

Paul  entered  and  flung  himself  on  the  couch, 
saying  as  he  did,  "Oh,  dear." 

"  'Oh,  dear,"  repeated  Fred.  "That's  a  funny 
thing  for  you  to  say.  Never  heard  it  from  you 
before.    What's  wrong?" 

"I'm  tired,"  said  Paul,  "dead  tired." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  girls.  I  can't  get  them  classified.  Other 
parts  of  the  book  work  out  like  a  clock  but  girls 
won't  fit  in  anywhere.  When  you  are  sure  you 
have  them — they  slip  by." 

Paul  was  now  thinking  of  Ruth  but  he  would 
not  admit  it  even  to  himself.  So  he  hunted 
through  his  books  to  find  a  class  into  which  he 
might  fit  her.  Then  he  could  disguise  his  thought 
behind  the  group  he  had  made. 

He  was  not  so  elemental  in  his  attitude  toward 
life  that  he  could  discuss  its  problems  nakedly  and 
unashamed.  To  him  the  primal  struggle  was  as 
lonely  a  matter  as  dying;  it  must  be  fought,  with 
Right   uncompromising   on    the    one    hand,    and 


164  MUD  HOLLOW 

Wrong  in  no  uncertain  colors  on  the  other.  There 
was  no  choice;  a  long  grim  tight  with  a  drawn 
sword.  This  poor  crude  fellow,  so  well  liked  for 
his  ready  smile,  his  genial  kindness,  his  unfalter- 
ing blue  eyes,  who  won  friends  by  his  eager  sil- 
ence, had  difficulty  in  finding  place  for  Euth  in 
the  narrow  frontier  of  his  nature.  Was  she  the 
first-fruits  of  an  experimental  process  or  was  she 
a  reversion  to  some  distant  epoch?  He  shrank 
from  the  term  "bad"  since  he  had  seen  her  wist- 
ful wet  face  looking  past  him,  up  to  God.  No, 
on  the  whole,  he  was  better  satisfied  when  he 
retreated  to  a  more  scientific  attitude.  But  were 
many  other  girls  like  that?  Did  they  impress 
other  fellows  as  Euth  impressed  him?  He  exam- 
ined with  deliberation  the  many  photographs 
dotting  Gannett 's  walls;  the  faded  and  battered 
air  of  some,  and  the  outdated  fashions  of  others 
indicated  continuous  epochs  of  research  experi- 
ence within  his  comrade's  career. 

"It's  taken  you  five  years  to  get  around  to  look 
at  them,  old  man,"  he  said  indulgently  "and  now 
you're  wasting  time  on  the  has-beens.  If  you 
want  to  see  a  Jim-dandy,  just  cast  your  eye  at 
the  girl  behind  the  pin-cushion  on  my  bureau. ' ' 

He  was  disappointed  that  Paul  did  not  look  at 
her ;  they  were  carrjdng  on  an  interesting  epistol- 
ary quarrel,  and  he  hoped  Paul  might  be  inter- 
ested in  the  account  and  perhaps  in  a  selected 
reading  or  two  from  the  letters  themselves. 

"How,  has-beens?"  asked  Paul. 

"Well,  that  one  over  your  head  there,  with  the 
fuzzy  bangs  and  the  Jersey,  is  married ;  some  of 
the  others  are  engaged,  and  I  don't  care  what  you 
say,  an  engaged  girl  has  no  more  interest  for  me 
than  my  grandmother's  great-aunt.  That's  Sally 
Stevens  you  are  looking  at  now.  I  was  all  gone 
there  once,  but  it  died  out." 

"How  do  vou  account  for  that?" 


THE  SHOCK  165 

*'How  do  I  account  for  mat?"  repeated  Gan- 
nett with  a  sarcastic  drawl.  ' '  Great  Scott !  What 
a  question!  She  wasn't  the  kind,  that's  all.  She 
was  just  born  an  old  maid,"  he  finished  conclu- 
sively. 

"That  manner  of  hers,"  said  the  Doctor  of 
Philosophy,  "may  have  been  a  fear  inherited 
from  some  ancestor  who  was  cruelly  treated  by 
men.  Men  should  not  cramp  the  development  of 
woman  and  then  turn  her  out  to  grass." 

"That  interests  me,"  said  Gannett.  "The  sub- 
ject came  up  the  other  day — which  pleases,  the 
lively,  joshy  kind  who  goes  into  a  flirtation  for  all 
she's  worth  and  doesn't  give  a  rap  who  knows  it? 
or  the  kind  who  wants  your  scalp  without  seeming 
to  hustle  for  it?" 

"And  the  decision?" 

"It  depends  on  the  girl  pretty  largeiy,"  said 
Fred,  with  a  remote,  judicial  air.  "If  she's  nice 
just  in  fun  and  can  look  out  for  herself — I  never 
met  the  girl  who  couldn  't.  Nine  out  of  ten  fellows 
will  give  as  good  as  she  sends— he'll  spoon  with 
her. ' ' 

"Cad,  cad!"  said  Paul,  bringing  his  fist  upon 
the  chair-arm. 

"Not  at  all,  not  for  a  minute!"  retorted  Fred 
with  exceeding  warmth,  "not  with  the  kind  of 
girl  I'm  thinking  of.  He  runs  all  the  chances- 
she  doesn't.  It's  notorious  that  the  fellow  is 
liable  to  fall  in  love  while  the  girl  is  cool  as  a 
cucumber,  just  feels  like  cutting  up — for  the  fun 
of  it  and  because  every  other  girl  does.  What's 
the  harm?" 

Paul  was  now  striding  about  the  room,  but 
brought  up  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  his  blue  eyes 
eagerly  fixed  upon  his  friend.  "Such  a  woman," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  that  lowered  and  deepened 
tenderly,  "is  all  feeling  and  emotion,  with  intel- 
lect in  abeyance.    She  is  helpless  and  undefended, 


166  MUD  HOLLOW 

and  the  ward  of  every  decent  man.  But,  poor 
thing,  she  defeats  herself.  Men  want  women  for 
whom  they're  not  sorry  or  for  whom  they  have 
to  apologize.  Girls  should  be  either,  or — but  they 
are  neither.  When  you  expect  them  to  be  firm 
they  repent.  When  they  should  come,  they  go. 
How  can  I  write  a  chapter  on  such  material?  You 
can't  call  them  sinful,  they  are  too  nice  for  that; 
nor  intellectual  when  their  thought  is  so  perverse. 
Some  girls  rush  at  men,  you  say,  and  some  hold 
back.  Which  come  first!  Wbich  is  the  advanced 
type  ?    That 's  what  bothers  me. ' ' 

''Why  should  it  bother  you!"  put  in  Fred. 
"Take  the  girl  you  like  and  let  the  other  go. 
Or  try  them  both  and  see  which  fits  the  better." 

' '  That  settles  nothing, ' '  replied  Paul.  ' '  A  book 
must  be  consistent.  Everything  else  works  in  all 
right.  But  girls  won't  fit.  Each  one  seems  to  be 
in  a  class  by  herself  and  the  more  I  read  the  more 
confused  I  become." 

' '  But  why  read  ?  Why  not  make  a  study  from 
life?  Begin  at  home.  You  don't  need  even  to 
cross  the  street." 

"You  mean  Ruth?" 

"Yes.    Stop  tearing  about;  relax  a  little." 

"Oh!  Fred,  she's  the  trial  of  my  life.  When 
I  want  to  write  I  see  her  over  my  shoulder.  When 
I  tramp  the  woods,  she's  ahead,  behind,  every- 
where. I  shut  her  out  but  it  is  no  good.  She 
comes  right  back." 

' '  So  she  should ;  she  is  yours. ' ' 

"Mine?    She'd  smash  every  plan  I  have." 

"Let  'em  smash." 

"I'd  write  no  book." 

"There  are  better  things  in  the  world  than 
books." 

"No  woman  shall  drag  me  from  my  path." 

' '  Paul,  you  are  a  fool,  a  stupid  fool.  If  friends 
have  not  told  you  so,  it  is  time  they  did.     Girls 


THE  SHOCK  167 

are  not  angels.  They  mix  clay  and  metal  just  as 
we  men  do.  Look  at  Susie — on  the  left.  I  was 
dead  gone  there  once.  She's  nothing  but  a  cry- 
baby bursting  into  tears  on  all  occasions.  Who 
could  live  with  a  garden  sprinkler?  Just  above 
is  Mary  Elizabeth.  She  was  all  right  until  she 
led  the  school.  Since  then  she  has  lived  in  the 
clouds,  poking  male  inferiority  at  you  on  all  occa- 
sions. But  great  heavens,  man,  such  women  don't 
make  the  world.  Now  there's  my  latest,  the  one 
you  would  not  look  at.  Gosh,  it  is  just  as  well 
to  let  her  alone  if  you  don't  want  sore  knuckles. 
She  is  on  my  level  and  stays  there. '  ^ 

Fred  handed  the  picture  to  Paul,  hoping  to  get 
in  a  word  about  Ruth.  They  had  always  been 
on  a  level.  Her  opinions  weighed  with  him  even 
on  topics  with  which  girls  were  not  assumed  to  be 
familiar. 

''Fred,"  said  Paul  looking  at  the  picture, 
''why  can't  women  dress?  How  can  you  like  a 
girl  who  exposes  her  form  so  boldly?" 

"Do  you  suppose,"  replied  Fred  with  a  quiet 
sneer,  "that  women  have  none?" 

"But  they  don't  need  to  show  it." 

"Should  they  be  ashamed  of  what  God  has 
given?" 

This  turn  increased  Paul's  confusion.  On  the 
one  hand  it  seemed  like  Professor  Stuart.  Per- 
haps Fred  had  picked  it  up  at  some  lecture.  On 
the  other,  it  led  to  an  unexplored  region  into 
which  he  had  resolutely  refused  to  go.  His  mother 
blocked  the  way  when  he  approached  the  entrance. 

At  last  he  said  reprovingly,  "You  have  gone  a 
long  way  from  what  we  were  taught  as  boys." 

"No  farther  than  you,  Paul.  We  were  not  born 
in  the  same  village  but  they're  all  alike.  Our 
corn  rows  were  straight.  Our  cooks  deserved 
their  reputation.  Griddle  cakes,  apple  dump- 
lings, pies  had  the  right  flavor.     Kitchen  floors 


168  MUD  HOLLOW 

and  pantry  shelves  were  clean,  but  ah,  Paul,  virtue 
does  not  grow  by  concealment.  Only  by  testing 
reality  does  goodness  get  a  chance  to  show  itself. 
Let  them  dress  as  they  will;  make  love  if  they 
want  to;  give  them  the  laugh  if  they  go  wrong, 
but  w^hy  object  if  they  use  less  calico  than  their 
mothers'?  Mothers  are  all  right.  A  necessary 
evil,  father  says.  Their  pies  and  cakes  are  good 
but  a  live  girl  is  better  than  all  their  fodder." 

Fred's  unexpected  attitude  shocked  Paul  but 
heresies  have  causes  as  well  as  virtues.  Both  had 
the  same  heredity:  church  and  school  were  the 
same,  yet  Paul  was  the  good  boy  of  one  town; 
Fred  was  the  black  sheep  of  the  other.  The  first 
day  at  school  he  pulled  Susie's  hair;  before  the 
week  ended  he  knocked  Julie  over ;  fought  his  way 
to  the  front  by  thrashing  every  boy  in  his  class, 
then  he  becanae  the  terror  of  the  town.  Blamed 
for  everything  that  happened  he  made  good  his 
reputation  by  breaking  even  the  sanctity  of  the 
Sunday  School.  Every  institution  received  him 
with  regret  and  graduated  him  with  pleasure. 

His  mother  could  not  imagine  how  so  black  a 
sheep  had  got  into  her  family.  For  ten  known 
generations  and  probably  as  many  more,  the  Mc- 
Clearys  had  lived  their  mechanical  lives,  getting 
up  with  the  sun,  toiling  till  darkness  interfered. 
Their  wives  cooked,  scrubbed,  w^ashed  their  chil- 
dren's feet  and  were  to  be  found  as  regularly  at 
the  washtub  on  Monday  as  at  church  the  preced- 
ing day.  Their  theology  was  as  pure  as  their 
garments;  their  ideas  as  fixed  as  the  equinox. 
Their  barns  w^ere  full;  their  fields  clean;  their 
hogs  brought  an  extra  price — ^but  the  rigid  regime 
of  daily  life  was  never  broken.  Such  was  Janet, 
who  inherited  the  best  pew  in  the  Church  and 
along  with  it  the  best  farm  in  the  county.  How 
could  this  woman  have  such  an  indescribable  off- 
spring as  Fred?    That  bothered  Janet.    It  both- 


THE  SHOCK  169 

ered  the  whole  town.  Where  do  black  sheep  come 
from?  Every  visitor  had  this  flung  at  him  but  no 
satisfactory  answer  came. 

So  Janet  laid  the  blame  on  the  father.  She 
even  accused  Joe  of  sympathizing  with  the  boy. 
Perhaps  both  accusations  had  a  grain  of  truth, 
but  if  so,  Janet  was  to  blame.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  her  that  children  were  half  father  or 
that  fathers  could  not  be  transformed  into  M,c- 
Clearys  by  taking  them  into  the  family.  Why  she 
picked  Joe,  when  any  of  the  dozen  best  boys  would 
gladly  have  shared  her  pew,  was  to  the  town  an 
unsolved  mystery.  Perhaps  his  Avar  record  helped 
him.  Perhaps  she  hoped  to  make  a  reformation. 
It  is  barely  possible  Joe's  prize  colt  was  a  factor. 
Girls  like  to  ride  behind  the  best  horse  even  if 
it  is  a  bit  immoral  to  race.  Nor  are  they  fond 
of  buggies  that  rattle.  Anyhow,  Joe  won  the  girl 
as  he  did  the  race  and  so  became  the  father  of  the 
boy  who  disgraced  the  McCleary  ancestry.  Such 
was  Fred's  upbringing.  His  mother  was  always 
lecturing  him  on  McCleary  virtues  and  Gannett 
delinquencies.  Joe  had  a  happy  way  of  avoiding 
punishment  by  extolling  McCleary  excellence ;  nor 
did  he  fail  to  find  worse  things  in  his  ancestry 
than  Janet  imagined,  nor  McCleary  virtues,  espe- 
cially female  virtues,  nobler  than  Janet  assumed. 
So  there  could  be  no  quarrel.  But  the  boy  per- 
versely refused  to  accept  the  parents'  verdict. 
His  father  and  the  stable  rose  higher  the  more  his 
mother  proved  how  bad  they  were. 

When  it  was  decided  Fred  was  to  go  to  college 
the  town  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  mother, 
however,  spent  her  time  lecturing  Fred  on  ex- 
penditures. She  carefully  figured  every  item  and 
gave  him  an  account  book  in  which  every  expense 
was  to  go.  In  the  front  she  wrote  the  rules  of 
conduct  he  was  to  follow,  beginning  with  an  in- 


170  MUD  HOLLOW 

junction  not  to  whistle  on  Sunday,  ending  with, 
how  to  tie  the  wash  bag. 

No  one  at  Bowman  ever  deemed  Fred  quarrel- 
some. He  was  a  leader  from  the  start;  a  victor 
at  the  finish.  He  returned  home  not  a  convict  nor 
with  the  Wild  West  air  the  town  expected,  but 
dressed  in  flaming  tie  and  turned-up  trousers. 
His  mother  remarked  she  was  glad  they  kept  the 
boys  clean  but  she  did  not  see  why  cloth  should 
be  wasted  on  trouser  legs.  Wjhen  Fred  became 
captain  she,  with  Joe,  saw  a  game.  Then  for  the 
first  time  she  discovered  a  surprising  resemblance 
between  Fred  and  his  maternal  grandparent. 

Such  was  Janet  and  such  also,  to  the  eye,  was 
Amy  Brown.  If  Colonel  Saunders  had  lived  in 
Plainfield  the  virtue  he  ascribed  to  Amy  fitted  as 
well  in  a  description  of  Janet.  All  he  said  of 
house,  food  and  cleanliness  applied  as  well  to  one 
as  to  the  other.  Both  stood  on  the  pinnacle  of 
public  estimation.  Both  served  as  models  by 
which  neglectful  mothers  were  judged.  Yet  while 
externals  were  the  same,  within  a  greater  gulf 
yawned  than  between  Fred  and  Paul.  Janet  was 
the  last  of  a  long  line  of  ancestresses  ground  to 
fit  a  particular  station.  Her  deeds  and  her 
thoughts  harmonized.  Both  expressed  the  me- 
chanical nature  of  long-established  creed.  If  ac- 
quired characters  can  be  inherited  here  was  a 
case.    Her  soul  and  viron  beat  in  harmony. 

Amy  did  what  Janet  did  but  her  conduct  was  an 
impressment  not  heredity.  Her  dreams  of  some- 
thing she  might  have  been,  Janet  never  had. 
Within  the  calm,  placid  exterior  burned  a  fire 
banked  but  not  extinguished.  Nobody  knew  of  it ; 
nobody  thought  of  her  as  a  Methodist.  Her 
Calvinist  transformation  seemed  complete.  There 
was  no  complex  isolating  her  from  husband  nor 
from  old  Tim.  She  blended  with  them ;  they  with 
her.    A  new  level  might  have  been  brought  but 


THE  SHOCK  171 

war,  degrading  love  to  sacrifice,  buried  promise 
beneath  a  load  of  duties.  She  could  only  sit  on 
the  porch  dreaming  of  wishes  not  being  realized. 
Her  fire  Paul  had  but  it  was  likewise  suppressed 
by  the  peculiar  twist  of  school  and  church. 

Such  were  the  antecedents  of  which  Fred  and 
Paul  were  consequents.  Both  had  the  same  an- 
cestry and  viron,  yet  neither  was  made  by  them 
but  by  personal  contacts  on  which  character-build- 
ing depends.  Paul  would  shake  his  fist  at  the  wall 
but  the  woman  he  saw,  the  disgrace  he  felt,  could 
not  be  reflected  from  wall  to  Fred.  So  Fred  sat 
helpless,  waiting  for  the  speechless  friend  to  put 
his  thought  into  words.  This  Paul  could  not  do. 
All  his  life  he  had  sought  words  but  words  never 
fitted  his  distorted  emotions.  His  picture  of 
woman  had  a  puzzling  confusion  of  the  good  and 
bad  which  no  word  can  describe  nor  canvas  ex- 
press. When  he  ran — the  woman  he  saw  became 
mother;  when  he  stopped — Ruth  slipped  into  her 
place.  But  why  should  women  arouse  a  mental 
flame  when  their  place  was  in  a  book,  arranged 
like  other  thoughts  in  an  orderly  sequence  ?  This 
was  his  mystery.  This  is  what  he  hoped  Fred 
could  tell. 

But  across  the  gulf  no  answer  came.  Fred 
remained  silent  knowing  well  that  in  the  end  an 
outburst  would  come.  He  was  afraid  he  had  gone 
too  far  or  too  rapidly.  Paul  was  slow  of  thought, 
too  slow  to  see  that  it  was  not  his  book  that  trou- 
bled him,  but  an  image  of  a  girl.  If  he  could 
make  her  a  book  image  fitting  some  of  his  diagrams 
all  would  be  well.  But  he  found  no  category  in 
which  to  place  her.  Nor  could  he  shut  her  out. 
Fred  could  see  that  a  big  resolution  was  forming. 
The  rigid  muscles  told  that.  Finally  Paul  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  exclaimed, 

''Fred,  you  don't  understand.  I  can't  change. 
I  won't  change.    I  came  here  with  a  clearly  de- 


172  MUD  HOLLOW 

fined  purpose.  Shall  I  lose  everything  for  a  girl? 
I  would  be  a  defender  of  women.  A  defender,  I 
say,  not  the  slave  of  one.  Only  mother  counts. 
All  the  rest  are  classes,  groups,  types.  I  honor 
them  all.  I  work  for  them  all.  The  chains  of  all 
I  would  break.  Shall  one  woman  seduce  me  from 
this  task?  Make  me  forget  my  mother  and  my 
duty?  No,  I  am  rock  itself.  What  I  have  willed 
I  have  done.  What  I  have  opposed  I  have  crushed. 
I  am  going  on.  I  will  be  a  master  of  self.  No 
obstacle  shall  drive  me  from  my  path.  There  is 
but  one  ladder.  It  I  must  climb.  Is  the  road 
hard?  I  will  strain  yet  harder.  To  look  back  or 
to  think  of  what  is  below  is  defeat.  I  will  be 
pure,  be  thought  itself.  My  flesh  shall  become 
muscle  as  I  struggle  on,  on  to  the  realm  where 
women  are  helpers,  not  temptations.  On  my 
muscle,  on  my  will,  I  rely.  God  gives  the  victory 
to  those  who  never  falter  as  they  climb.  Mother, 
mother,  thy  purity  shall  be  mine.  In  thy  glory 
will  I  share." 

There  w^as  a  fierce  look  on  his  face  as  he  said 
this.  So  fierce  that  it  made  Fred  tremble.  Then 
he  turned,  slammed  the  door  and  rushed  off  for 
another  ten-mile  run.  His  strengtli  was  his  con- 
fidence.   No  other  salvation  would  he  accept. 

Fred  stood  at  the  window  and  saw  the  giant 
swing  out  of  sight.  He  could  not  but  admire  the 
vigor  with  which  he  mounted  the  Ridge.  Day  by 
day  he  saw  the  same  scene  reacted.  Paul  w^ould 
leap  from  his  window,  stamp  his  feet,  clench  his 
fist  and  then  was  oft*  for  a  run  in  the  woods.  No 
one  but  Fred  noticed  the  tremor  of  the  lips  or  the 
vacant  stare.  Paul  was  above  criticism.  What 
he  did  was  accepted  without  criticism.  Did  he 
do  some  strange  thing,  it  was  Paul.  The  whole 
town  was  worked  up  to  his  pitch  and  vibrated  to 
his  nod.  What  is  there  to  do  but  to  follow  when 
a  leader  cries,  "On!    On!"    Who  can  judge  of 


THE  SHOCK  173 

another's  sanity  when  the  moods  and  aspirations 
are  his? 

Fred  was  as  warm  an  admirer  of  Paul  as  aii^' 
friend,  but  he  was  also  a  trainer  and  an  athlete. 
He  knew  the  difference  between  vigor  and  excite- 
ment, between  nervous  strain  and  muscular  ac- 
tion. The  old  Paul  was  always  relaxed  except 
when  the  call  to  action  came.  Now  his  muscles 
were  drawn  tense  as  in  a  football  game.  Then 
he  smiled,  now  the  downward  curves  of  his  face 
became  more  pronounced  each  day. 

Although  not  a  psychologist,  Fred  sensed  the 
cause.  Paul  often  turned  back  when  he  started 
for  the  Professor's  study.  Instead  of  jumping  the 
fence  he  peered  through  to  see  if  the  w^ay  were 
clear.  He  seemed  irritated  wlien  Euth  was  near 
and  gave  some  excuse  for  hurried  exit.  Often 
Fred  washed  to  talk  to  Paul,  to  enter  into  a  closer 
intimacy.  But  Paul,  friendly  to  all,  was  intimate 
with  none.  He  was  with  his  world  but  not  of  it. 
Even  Fred  dared  not  voice  his  conviction  unless 
Paul  opened  the  way.  He  was  like  a  tall  moun- 
tain shrouded  in  its  own  vapor. 

So  Fred  could  only  wait  and  hope.  And  vainly, 
for  the  malady  must  run  its  course  and  claim  its 
victim.  When  it  was  whispered,  "Paul  is  sick," 
everybody  was  surprised  but  F'red.  But  when  the 
cry  rang  over  the  campus,  "Paul  is  mad,"  Fred 
like  the  others  jumped  out  his  window  and  joined 
the  throng. 

Crises  always  take  unexpected  turns;  for  this 
Fred  was  as  little  prepared  as  the  others.  Excited 
groups  gathered  each  with  some  new  tale  to  tell. 
Strange  reports  were  coming  in  from  the  country 
about  of  a  giant,  a  man  doing  impossible  feats, 
beating  back  invisible  foes,  lashing  the  clouds  with 
his  anger  and  striking  terror  into  the  hearts  of 
man  and  animal. 

The  start  at  break  of  day  many  had  seen,  the 


174  MUD  HOLLOW 

wild  gestures  and  the  sudden  leaps.  Over  the 
hills  he  went  with  a  recklessness  which  matched 
the  tales  which  recounted  his  later  Hight.  No  one 
doubted  it  was  Paul.  No  one  else  could  do  such 
deeds.  When  their  eyes  were  opened  they  saw 
afresh  what  they  had  overlooked  in  the  recent 
events.  The  cause — the  cause — there  was  but  one 
reply.  Ruth.  The  tvv^o  were  associated  in  every- 
one 's  mind  and  the  thought  of  the  one  led  straight 
to  the  other.  What  had  Ruth  done?  How  had 
she  cast  a  spell  on  Paul?  The  student,  the  com- 
rade, the  friend,  hesitated  in  his  answer.  He 
shook  his  head  and  remained  silent. 

But  to  the  women  of  the  town  there  came  a 
quick,  instinctive  reply.  Long  had  they  waited 
for  some  expression  of  God's  wrath;  it  had  come. 
What  had  come  surprised  them  as  much  as  it  did 
others,  but  that  something  dreadful  would  occur 
they  knew,  yes,  they  had  even  prayed  for.  It 
shocked  them  to  think  that  their  idol  was  the 
victim  of  divine  wrath,  but  that  only  increased 
their  antagonism  to  the  law-breaker  to  whom  the 
affliction  was  due.  All  the  old  feeling  against  the 
Professor  and  his  doctrine  flashed  up  anew.  If 
he  had  been  punished  they  would  have  been  satis- 
fied, but  he  and  his  had  escaped. 

A\niat  could  this  mean?  A  charm,  a  spell,  the 
exercise  of  some  occult  magic.  What  was  to  be 
expected  but  the  return  of  pagan  glamor  when  a 
champion  of  ancient  idolatry  taught  his  doctrine 
undisturbed  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  col- 
lege. And  Ruth — they  all  knew  she  would  turn 
out  bad.  But  to  become  a  sorcerer,  that  exceeded 
what  they  had  expected.  AVhen  their  eyes  were 
once  opened  their  keen  vision  helped  them  see 
what  before  was  obscure.  Did  not  Ruth  spend 
her  time  among  her  father's  books,  books  which 
depicted  the  ways  of  a  bewitched  world  1  Did  she 
not  love  to  repeat  old  nursery  rhymes  and  imitate 


THE  EECOIL  175 

the  deeds  which  heathen  books  picture?  What 
was  her  dancing  but  witchcraft,  her  incantations 
but  a  call  for  help  from  the  lower  world?  Then 
they  remembered  how  she  told  fortmies  in  a  dark 
corner  and  awed  the  girls  by  her  weird  costumes. 
Surely  none  would  do  this  but  those  who  practised 
in  the  night  the  arts  they  love  to  imitate  by  day. 
More  than  this,  she  had  been  seen  at  early  dawn 
returning  from  the  woods  tired  and  worn  by  the 
revelries  in  which  she  had  participated. 

'*!  saw  her,"  said  one,  ''out  in  the  fog  at  break 
of  day,  kneeling  on  the  grass,  calling  for  help 
from  invisible  spirits." 

So  the  gossip  ran  and  it  grew  as  it  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth.  At  first  the  men  doubted 
but  as  the  day  wore  on  they  caught  the  mob  spirit 
and  cursed  the  girl  who  had  caused  their  idol  to 
fall.  All  rushed  aimlessly  about,  a  dozen  plans 
were  suggested.  Many  parties  tried  to  trace  the 
wanderer,  but  all  was  vain.  The  reports  be- 
came wilder,  the  terror  grew  but  no  solution  came. 
To  curse  the  girl  was  easier  than  find  the  man. 


XVII 

The  Recoil 

Ruth  was  a  good  sleeper  dreaming  sweet 
dreams ;  a  smile  lit  her  face  which  her  father  saw 
with  joy.  It  meant  fairies,  heroes,  bold  horse- 
men whose  arts  would  shock  the  timid  but  who  in 
the  end  did  noble  deeds  which  redeemed  the  an- 
guish of  earlier  moments.  Girls  were  often  car- 
ried off  by  their  hair,  torn  from  a  family  and 
friends,  but  their  pain  was  borne  with  a  'sweet 
smile  which  soon  reconciled  them  to  their  fate. 


176  MUD  HOLLOW 

The  hideous  turned  into  the  beautiful ;  the  demon 
proved  to  be  a  valiant  rescuer  disguised. 

Such  are  the  dreams  of  the  innocent.  Those 
who  give  joy  by  day  get  it  back  at  night.  Dark 
clouds  stay  to  terrify  only  those  who  hear  the 
cry  of  a  rebuking  conscience  which  Euth  had 
not.  Past  deeds  never  returned  to  hit  her  in 
the  face.  Looking  back  she  saw  only  roses  in 
fuller  bloom  than  the  buds  of  the  day  before.  No 
sorrow  had  crossed  her  track.  She  laughed  by 
day;  she  smiled  by  night.  Which  pleased  him 
most  her  father  could  never  decide.  He  called 
himself  lucky,  put  tender  kisses  on  her  brow  and 
let  it  go.  He  could  look  from  the  picture  on  the 
wall  to  the  girl  on  the  couch  and  say — the  reward, 
of  the  blessed  is  mine. 

Tonight  she  tossed  on  her  pillow,  uttering  faint 
cries;  shudders  passed  over  her  frame.  The 
dreams  did  not  run  smoothly.  The  clouds  did  not 
break.  The  hero  did  not  come  nor  did  the  demon 
change  to  a  defender.  They  took  her  farther  and 
farther  into  the  deep  woods.  She  heard  the  growl 
of  the  wolf  and  the  roaring  of  fierce  animals. 
Worse  and  worse  grew  the  terrors,  fiercer  and 
fiercer  grew  her  companion.  She  was  helpless  and 
dumb  amid  it  all,  a  victim  of  some  catastrophe 
she  knew  not  what.  The  demon  seized  her  with 
a  fiendish  yell.  Raising  a  knife  to  plunge  into 
her  heart,  he  started  to  execute  his  threat,  but  as 
he  did  he  changed.  He  seemed  no  longer  an  ex- 
ternal fiend  trying  to  harm  but  an  internal  evil 
transforming  her  into  its  likeness. 

The  without  became  good,  the  within  became 
bad.  She  saw  that  she  was  the  bad  in  a  good 
world,  that  the  knife  was  in  her  hand ;  that  a  fierce 
zeal  for  destruction  was  in  her  heart.  The  world 
pomted  a  finger  of  scorn  at  her  and  cried, 
' '  Shame,  shame,  fiend,  witch,  destroyer.  Why  do 
you  persecute?    Why  drag  down  others  to  your 


THE  KECOIL  177 

level  r'  Then  the  world  turned  into  persons,  be- 
came father  and  Paul.  Both  had  deep  wounds 
which  she  seemed  to  have  made.  W/as  not  h«r 
knife  bloody?  Had  she  not  struck  the  fatal  blow! 
A  cold  terror  shook  her  frame,  her  eyes  were 
heavy  with  a  fixed  stare.  A  haunting  dread  of 
consequence  stood  before;  behind  yawned  a  gulf 
of  unmeasurable  depth.  The  ground  yielded  un- 
der her  feet  and  she  sank  down,  down,  but  she  did 
not  reach  the  bottom.  A  gasp,  a  cry,  a  struggle. 
.     .    .     She  awoke  and  knew  it  was  only  a  dream. 

She  was  back  in  the  world — ^but  so  different  a 
world.  The  sky  was  dark,  the  fields  had  a  chill 
look;  the  flowers  had  no  color,  the  birds  sang 
harsh  notes.  Nothing  smiled  a  welcome.  All 
stood  apart  in  glum  silence.  And  what  of  father 
and  Paul?  Were  they  a  part  of  herself  as  before? 
No,  they  seemed  strange  beings.  Cold  glances 
replaced  the  smile  of  sympathy  their  presence  al- 
ways brought. 

She  lay  on  her  bed  and  pondered.  The  scenes 
of  yesternight  and  its  antecedent  events  passed 
before  her  with  a  taunting  vividness.  Her  yearn- 
ing for  Paul,  her  grim  determination  to  gain  a 
cherished  end;  her  defiance  of  father;  his  cry  of 
despair.  All  this  made  her  wonder  if  the  wrong 
were  not  in  her;  if  her  dream  had  not  shown  an 
internal  blemish  of  which  she  had  not  been  aware. 
Could  she  meet  her  father?  Could  she  face  Paul? 
Could  she  live  in  the  Bowman  from  which  she  felt 
estranged?  No ;  they  and  she  had  broken  forever. 
In  some  other  world  she  could  do  penance  but  not 
here.  Then  a  happy  thought  came :  Miss  Addams ' 
invitation  to  visit  the  Hull  House.  There  she 
might  escape  the  taunt  which  all  Bowman  cast 
into  her  face.  There  she  might  learn  her  place  in 
the  world. 

Thought  and  action  quickly  followed  each  other. 
The  morning  train  should  bear  her  westward. 


178  MUD  HOLLOW 

Putting  the  needed  belongings  in  a  bag  she  really 
started  for  the  depot.  But  as  she  would  have  slid 
out  the  back  way  an  angry  crowd  in  the  street 
^blocked  her  way.  She  shrank  behind  the  shading 
trees  where  unobserved  she  listened  to  the  excited 
throng  which  stood  before  the  gate. 

The  topic  was  Paul,  the  content  was  plain. 
Paul  was  mad,  mad,  mad !  everyone  repeated  each 
with  greater  emphasis.  There  was  but  one  opin- 
ion. Damn  the  girl.  She  is  the  cause  of  the  whole 
trouble.  Away  with  her,  burn  the  witch.  We 
want  Paul,  Paul,  nothing  but  Paul. 

At  first  the  confused  talk  did  not  arouse  Euth. 
That  men  should  denounce  created  no  response. 
Then  on  a  sudden  a  new  vision  came.  The  mob 
disappeared  and  Paul  stood  before  her  as  the 
speakers  described  him.  She  could  see  him  leap, 
run  and  turn.  The  wild  look  on  his  face  haunted 
her,  the  dropping  sweat  seemed  to  burn  holes  as 
it  fell.  She  began  to  realize  what  it  was  to  be 
demented  and,  worse,  what  it  was  to  be  its  cause. 
Paul  was  mad  because  of  her  persecution. 

Her  bag  dropped  from  her  hand,  her  knees 
seemed  to  give  way,  her  feet  to  glide  from  under. 
All  thought  of  Hull  House  went  the  moment  the 
picture  of  Paul  loomed.  She  had  made  a  monster 
of  a  man.  She  must  cure  the  ill  she  had  wrought. 
What  could  she  do?  What  was  the  balm  to  re- 
store what  she  destroyed  ?  She  clasped  her  hands, 
finally  smiling  through  her  tears  as  she  became 
conscious  of  a  way  out.  She  would  care  for  Paul. 
She  would  be  his  nurse.  Mad  men  tore,  raged, 
swore.  They  smashed  things;  did  ill  to  their 
friends.  What  mattered  it?  Let  him  strike  her, 
beat  her,  pull  out  her  hair  by  the  roots.  She 
would  smile  at  his  blows ;  bear  her  scars  without 
murmur  of  complaint.  Where  was  he  ?  she  would 
begin  her  task  at  once. 

She  ran  to  the  house  and  would  enter.     But 


THE  EECOIL  179 

the  door  slammed  itself  in  her  face.  Through  the 
window  gleamed  a  hideous  face  of  Paul,  disfigured 
worse  than  she  had  imagined.  From  his  shoulder 
croaked  a  raven, ' '  You ;  you ;  you ;  see  your  work. ' ' 

When  she  looked  down  a  dozen  spirits  leaped 
from  the  grass  and  pointed  a  finger  of  shame  at 
her.  With  a  cry  she  fled  along  the  path  which  led 
to  the  garden.  Behind  was  heard  the  tread  of 
some  fierce  pursuer.  Was  it  Paul?  Yes,  none 
other  had  so  firm  a  tread.  Her  courage  came 
back.  She  would  begin  her  appointed  work.  Let 
him  tear  her  to  bits  if  he  would.  Still  she  would 
tend  him,  be  his  guide  and  saviour. 

She  turned,  but  nothing  was  there.  All  was 
still  and  bright.  She  laughed  to  herself  and  said, 
''Nonsense,"  but  as  she  turned  her  terror  came 
back.  On  she  ran,  leaping  the  fence  which  lined 
the  athletic  field.  There  she  saw  a  game,  a  specter 
game.  Mere  shadows  and  faces  glided  about  the 
field,  charging  and  counter-charging.  One  figure 
towered  above  them  all.  It  was  Paul,  not  the 
Paul  of  old,  but  a  demon  Paul  who  bit,  tore  and 
felled  his  comrades  without  compunction.  When 
he  saw  her  he  rushed  at  her  with  a  terrific  whoop. 
Despite  her  resolution  she  turned  and  fled.  Nor 
did  she  stop  until  she  reached  the  friendly  shelter 
of  the  corner  elm. 

Now  all  was  still  as  before.  Again  she  laughed ; 
once  more  became  bold  with  duty.  But  as  she 
advanced  the  skies  darkened  and  a  haze  came  be- 
fore her  eyes.  Peals  of  thunder  rent  the  air ;  cries 
worse  than  those  of  maniacs  came  out  of  the  dark- 
ness. Then  arose  a  long,  long  line  of  faces,  gloomy, 
stern  faces,  each  with  a  chain  and  a  lock  to  bind 
her  fast.  They  were  the  prophets — ''Repent,  re- 
pent!" they  cried.  "To  us  has  God  given  the 
task  of  subduing  women.  Hear  their  cry  as  they 
go  down  to  torture. ' '  They  pointed  on  beyond  to 
a  growing  gulf  whence  rose  a  lurid  flame  lapping 


180  MUD  HOLLOW 

its  victims  beneath  a  blazing  surface.  This  she 
could  not  face.  She  fled  toward  a  distant  light 
but  as  she  drew  near  it  burst,  turning  the  sky 
to  a  lurid  red. 

From  the  clouds  dropped  a  dew  which  as  it 
glistened  from  the  leaves  turned  into  blood  and 
trickled  down  in  pools  at  her  feet.  She  looked  at 
her  hands.  They  were  red,  red  like  the  blood  of 
the  sky  and  bush.  She  washed  and  washed  to 
make  them  w^hite  but  even  the  soap  turned  red 
and  made  the  stain  deeper.  She  ran  from  the 
scarlet  sky  into  the  gloom.  The  black  seemed  bet- 
ter than  the  red  but  wherever  she  fled  gnomes 
leaped  up  in  her  path;  dark,  nasty  figures  that 
seemed  to  reach  out  for  the  hair  with  which  she 
thought  she  was  willing  to  part  but  was  not.  They 
were  all  Pauls  in  new  disguise.  She  turned  from 
the  one  only  to  run  into  the  other.  Their  cries 
seemed  like  rolls  of  thunder  while  their  looks 
grew  fiercer  as  the  clouds  got  darker.  Eound  and 
round  the  garden  she  fled;  paler  and  paler  she 
grew.  They  closed  in  on  her  and  stood,  a  solid 
phalanx,  in  her  way.  She  became  dizzy,  stag- 
gered and  fell.  But  as  she  fell  something  grasped 
her.  Was  it  Paul?  Was  it  a  demon?  No,  when 
the  mists  cleared  she  was  held  tightly  in  the  arms 
of  Mrs.  Andrew. 

Mrs.  Andrew  had  been  with  the  crowd  on  the 
street.  She  had  felt  its  grief,  joined  in  its  con- 
demnation, and  mourned  with  the  rest  for  the 
absent  Paul.  But  when  the  mob,  turning  to  Ruth, 
roared  out  its  spleen,  she  said,  ''Now  is  the  time 
to  be  of  help." 

So  she  crossed  the  street,  entered  the  yard  and 
here  she  stood  with  Ruth  in  her  arms.  The  con- 
tact was  so  sudden  she  had  no  plan  of  action.  It 
was  an  instinct  and  not  a  scheme  which  brought 
her  here;  now  instinct  must  be  her  guide.  The 
girl  was  a  frail;  she  a  robust  woman  of  muscle, 


THE  EECOIL  181 

nerve  and  decision.  No  greater  contrast  was  pos- 
sible between  the  shivering  girl  and  the  icy  com- 
posure of  her  companion,  yet  both  were  women. 
They  were  nature's  extremes  brought  into  contact 
by  an  impulse  older  than  the  hills.  When  woman 
loves  and  laughs  she  turns  toward  a  man  but  in 
suffering  no  one  knows  its  depth  but  another 
w^oman.  The  older  drew  the  younger  to  her, 
pushed  back  her  tangled  hair  and  eased  the  tur- 
bulent tremor  that  passed  over  her  face. 

The  younger  gasped,  put  her  hand  on  the  face 
above  her  to  be  sure  it  was  human,  then  cried, 
"Where  am  I?    Where  have  I  been?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  a  soothing  voice.  "You 
are  here  and  that  is  enough." 

Euth  looked  about  in  a  wild  way.  The  clouds 
had  partly  broken  but  still  the  gnome  faces  stared 
at  her  from  the  sky.  Suddenly  she  gave  a  shriek 
and  would  have  fled  if  she  had  not  been  held 
tightly  by  her  elder. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Look,"  cried  Ruth,  "at  least  a  dozen." 

"Where?" 

' '  In  the  grass  behind  the  lilac  bush.  They  jump 
like  toads  but  their  teeth  are  as  sharp  as  a 
wolf's." 

"Oh,  I  know  them,"  sair  the  woman.  "They 
are  Nixies." 

'' Nixies — what  are  they?" 

' '  Things  which  are  what  they  are  not.  Frauds 
every  one.  Nothing  real.  I  never  saw  a  toad 
that  did  not  wish  to  show  off  as  an  alligator. 
They'll  turn  if  you  look  at  'em.  See!"  At  this 
Mrs.  Andrew  put  on  a  stern  look  and  dashed  to- 
ward the  bush,  which  she  shook  rudely. 

"They're  gone,"  cried  Ruth.  "The  mean 
things,  to  seem  real  when  they  are  not.  Why  does 
God  let  such  things  live  ? ' ' 

"He   doesn't.     They   slip   around  behind  the 


182  MUD  HOLLOW 

clouds  and  get  along  without  Him.  God  rules  the 
living  and  the  dead.  They're  neither — mere  lies. 
Snap  your  fingers  and  they  are  done  for. ' ' 

Scarcely  had  she  said  this  when  a  new  terror 
seized  Euth.  She  jumped  behind  her  companion 
and  held  to  her  skirt. 

''What  now!" 

' '  Look,  there  in  a  bush,  they  came  again.  This 
time  they  had  wings,  tails,  long  flaring  tongues." 

"Oh,  they're  merely  night-walkers.  Everything 
has  two  lives,  one  in  the  air,  one  on  the  ground. 
On  the  ground  they  dream  of  being  in  the  air 
and  take  hideous  forms  such  as  they  imagine  they 
would  like  to  be.  Who  doesn't  dream  of  being 
huge  and  powerful,  of  having  wdngs  and  flying 
on  through  space!  We  do;  so  do  they.  Some 
time  they  will  fly.  Every  creature  does.  But 
now  it  is  only  at  night  that  they  shake  off  their 
grub-like  forms.  This  dream-self  we  see.  From 
it  our  visions  come.  But  I  found  them  out  and 
fixed  them  at  last.  Take  this  thread  and  lay  it 
across  their  backs." 

Ruth  advanced  cautiously  in  her  tears  and 
smiles.  She  stretched  out  her  thread,  suddenly 
turned,  said  joyfully,  "They  are  gone.  They  sank 
into  the  ground  as  quick  as  a  flash." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Andrews,  "they  merely 
changed  their  form  in  the  dark.  They  might 
easily  be  mistaken  for  a  wolf.  But  they  bother 
most  Avhen  they  fly.  Then  they  come  in  at  the 
window  and  light  on  the  bed." 

* '  How  did  you  stop  them  1 ' ' 

"Their  wings  are  mere  shams.  If  they  get 
caught  in  a  spider's  iveb  they  can't  get  loose. 
There  they  hang  till  the  spider  wants  a  meal.  So 
they  hate  the  thread,  the  smaller  the  worse.  It 
looks  like  spider  webs,  you  know.  They  are  even 
afraid  of  an  empty  spool.  I  used  to  tie  threads 
over  my  bed  and  hang  the  spool  at  the  window.    A 


THE  RECOIL  183 

thread  seems  to  them  as  big  as  a  rope.  They 
never  bothered  me  when  I  learned  how  to  fix 
them. ' ' 

Mrs.  Andrew  led  the  way  to  the  porch,  the  girl 
sometimes  running  ahead,  and  sometimes  shrink- 
ing back  as  if  their  way  were  obstructed. 

'^Here  is  a  fine  place  to  rest,"  said  she,  as 
she  fixed  the  pillow^s  of  the  hammock.  Ruth  obeyed 
and  let  her  face  be  massaged  until  the  smiles 
conquered  her  tears.  Suddenly  she  sprang  up 
and  said, 

''Did  girls  love  when  you  were  a  girl?" 

* '  Certainly,  girls  were  made  to  love.  Boys  and 
girls  flock  together  in  the  woods,  in  the  town; 
yesterday,  today  and  tomorrow;  it's  all  the  same. 
Love  knows  no  time,  no  place,  no  race. ' ' 

''Were  there  heroes  then,  men  like  Paul  who 
made  things  go  ? ' ' 

"Heroes  came  with  the  first  girl.  Not  singly 
but  in  groups.  Every  girl  in  every  age  has  a 
score  of  heroes  to  adore." 

"Do  they  run  after  the  heroes  or  do  the  heroes 
come  to  them?" 

"Sometimes  it's  one  way  and  sometimes  the 
other.  Girls  who  rush  ahead  don't  seem  to  win 
so  often  as  those  who  hold  back.  You  see,  if  she 
runs  after  him  he  runs ;  while  if  she  turns — he  is 
on  her  track  in  a  minute." 

"A  real  hero  running  after  a  girl!  "Why,  that 
is  absurd.  He's  on  the  job.  All  his  time  is  taken 
by  the  great  things  ahead." 

"Well,  it  may  be  absurd  but  it  happens.  The 
greater  the  hero,  the  quicker  he  stops  when  he 
sees  the  right  girl." 

"Paul  would  never  turn  back.  It's  always  on, 
on,  ever  on.  He'd  smash  the  line;  he'd  write  a 
book." 

"Yes,  but  the  book  will  have  a  girl  in  it.  A 
book  without  a   girl  would  be   a  frosty  affair. 


184  MUD  HOLLOW 

Probably  it  wouldn't  sell.  If  a  book  does  not 
start  with  a  girl,  it  is  sure  to  end  with  one.  Girl- 
less  books  become  books-with-girls.  Men  are  all 
alike.  They  fight,  they  conquer,  they  sing  songs 
and  write  books.  And  no  reward  satisfies  but  a 
woman's  smile.  They  are  sure  to  turn  back  and 
look  for  it." 

"But  Paul  is  not  like  them,  he's  a  greater  hero, 
the  stuff  of  which  gods  are  made. ' ' 

' '  The  greater  the  hero,  the  greater  his  love. ' ' 

* '  But  the  cards  don 't  say  so.  Something  always 
comes  between,  a  journey,  a  book,  a  lecture. 
Here's  the  Queen  of  Spades — that's  L  Paul  is 
the  Jack  of  Hearts.  But  mix  the  cards  as  you 
will,  they  never  come  together.  A  book  is  six;  a 
journey  is  five ;  and  a  talk  is  two.  Six,  five  and 
two  are  thirteen.  It's  always  unlucky,  no  matter 
how  often  I  try." 

' '  Why  not  turn  the  six,  and  then  it  is  nine.  That 
makes  sixteen,  a  lucky  square.  Whoever  goes 
around  a  square  always  comes  back.  Then  he 
runs  straight  into  the  girl  and  the  Queen  of  Spades 
wins." 

*'My,  I  never  thought  of  that.  You  must  be 
a  great  mathematician." 

"I  used  to  be  when  I  studied  the  old  Adams 
arithmetic.  I  was  good  at  figuring,  but  those 
puzzles  at  the  end  made  me  groan.  If  twelve  men 
can  dig  a  ditch  in  eight  days,  working  nine  hours 
a  day,  how  many  men  can  finish  it  in  three  days 
working  ten  hours  a  day  if  five  men  take  Saturday 
off?" 

"That  must  have  been  a  stunner." 

"No,  that  was  an  easy  starter.  The  real  puzzles 
were  those  one  must  think  out.  There  Ed  West 
beat  me.  Boys  always  beat  girls  when  it  comes 
to  thinking.  They  see  right  smash  through,  and 
win  out." 

"Yes,"  said  Ruth,  slowly,  "that's  like  Paul." 


THE  RECOIL  185 

Then  she  brightened  up  and  exclaimed,  '*He 
breaks  the  line  every  time — on,  ever  on." 

Tlien  the  frightened  look  came  again.  She 
clinched  Mrs.  Andrew's  hand  convulsively  and 
cried,  "But  why  did  he  go  mad?  Could  I  help 
loving  him?  Oh,  I  wished  he  would  come,  carry 
me  off.  Who  would  care  for  the  pain  if  only  a 
lover  tore  you  away?  But  now  he  comes  not  to 
love,  not  to  seize,  but  to  tear  limb  from  limb. 
His  look  is  wrath,  his  eye  is  blood;  in  his  grasp 
are  brands  of  fire.  If  I  look  up  he  is  there,  if  I 
look  dow^n,  the  shadow  is  his ;  to  the  right,  to  the 
left,  round  and  round  like  a  dizzy  whirl,  his  image 
floats.  Ah,  tell  me,  tell  me  if  these  phantoms  are 
mere  Nixies,  where  is  the  real  Paul  ?  Do  they  re- 
flect his  anger?  Do  the  thunders  echo  and  enlarge 
his  cries  of  vengeance?  Oh,  w^here  is  Paul,  my 
Paul?  Let  him  slay  me  if  he  will  but  to  him  I 
must  go.  Help  me  find  him.  Let's  make  it  our 
holy  grail  to  find  the  hero  and  to  give  our  lives 
in  ransom  for  his." 

"No,  Euth,  sacrifice  won't  work.  It's  lost  its 
charm.  Too  many  lives  of  women  have  already 
been  given  as  a  ransom.  What  meets  it?  The 
more  we  sacrifice  the  higher  Satan  puts  his  price. 
It  is  love  that  wins.  Only  love  can  bring  the  hero 
back.  He  may  be  in  a  far  country,  years  elapse, 
but  love  is  the  only  force  that  draws.  On  it  we 
must  rely." 

' '  You  mean  wait,  wait !  No,  I  cannot  wait.  It's 
now.    Love  is  always  now,  it  has  no  tomorrow." 

"True,  true,  we  are  now  and  not  tomorrow. 
Today  w^e  must  live  while  it  is  light  and  love  is 
warm.  Let 's  turn  him  back  today.  This  sun  shall 
see  him  here. ' ' 

"How?" 

"Absent  treatment." 

"Absent  treatment,  what  is  that?'' 

"A  new  cure.  Can  nature  move  cold  thought 


186  MUD  HOLLOW 

from  mind  to  mind  and  have  no  way  by  whicli 
warm  hearts  can  beat  as  one?  No,  the  ether 
through  which  thought  moves  so  freely  can  take 
love 's  message  as  welL  No  sea,  no  storm,  no  peal 
of  thunder  can  hinder  its  flight.  Let's  not  go 
tramping  to  a  holy  grail.  Bring  it  to  us.  Now 
and  here.  The  test  of  woman's  power  is  to  bring, 
not  to  go.'' 

*'But  how  would  you  stop  him  when  he  goes  on, 
on,  up,  up?  Always  to  something  higher  and 
better.  The  stones  under  his  feet  roll  back  but 
he  never  returns.    What  is  love  to  him?" 

"Everything.  It  is  that  he  seeks.  He  thinks 
it  is  ahead  and  so  it  was,  yet  now  it  is  behind. 
The  more  he  strives,  the  farther  he  gets  from  his 
goal.  We  must  stop  him.  Make  him  turn  back. 
There  he  goes,  up  the  hill.  A  fierce  look  is  on  his 
face  but  not  the  look  of  hate.  Think  hard,  to- 
gether. It  is  not  our  feet  but  our  love  which  can 
reach  him.    Once  more,  do  you  see  him?" 

''Yes,  but  he  has  not  stopped,  he  only  smiled." 

"That  shows  that  love  can  reach  him.  It  goes 
quickly  and  its  arrows  pierce  even  the  most  cal- 
lous heart.  Now  let's  try  again.  Think  hard — 
think  long,  and  let  our  love  go  out  with  our  breath. 
Where  is  he  now?" 

' '  He  stopped  but  then  went  on  faster  than  ever. 
He  waved  his  hand  and  raised  his  voice  as  if 
something  were  right  ahead." 

"Good.  There  is  something  right  ahead.  Love's 
signals  point  in  so  many  ways;  they  are  often 
misunderstood.  Love  says  to  a  man,  'Go  ahead,' 
but  it  also  says,  'Come  back.'  The  first  signal 
he  has  caught — ^we  must  give  him  the  second. 
Let's  try  again.  Put  your  hand  on  your  heart; 
a  pulse  of  love  can  reach  anywhere ;  turn  stone  to 
smiles." 

"He  stops,"  cried  Ruth,  "he  turns,  he  is  com- 
ing back !    Paul,  Paul.    It  is  Ruth,  your  Ruth. ' ' 


THE  KECOIL  187 

''That  wall  do,"  said  Mrs.  Andrew  in  her 
matter-of-fact  way.  "When  a  lover  turns  he 
comes.  Today  he  will  be  here,  before  the  setting 
of  the  sun.    Now  rest,  get  ready  for  the  coming 

joy-" 

With  this  she  laid  Kuth's  head  on  the  pillow  and 
stroked  her  cheeks.  There  came  a  calm  but  it  was 
broken  by  many  starts.  The  girl  would  rise  up, 
throw  out  her  arms  as  if  in  terror,  but  her  tranquil 
nurse  pressed  her  hands  gently  until  the  calm 
returned.  Again  and  again  the  tremor  returned 
and  was  relieved;  the  within  ever  came  to  the 
open  and  could  be  read  by  the  flush  of  the  cheek, 
the  trembling  of  limb  and  the  thumping  of  the 
heart.  But  the  nurse  moved  not  a  muscle  nor 
broke  the  calm  of  her  rigid  countenance. 

Mrs.  Andrew  was  a  Gordon,  a  race  that  never 
smiled.  Duty  got  up  with  them  in  the  morning, 
stood  with  them  all  day  and  slept  at  their  bedside 
at  night.  They  had  set,  impassive  faces.  The 
within  never  dared  to  break  the  crust  which 
through  many  ages  moral  resolve  had  formed. 
What  they  did  do  or  did  not  do  had  become  so  fixed 
that  no  emotion  could  swerve  them  from  their 
stern  path.  And  yet  their  neighbors  liked  them. 
They  always  helped,  were  good  in  trouble,  even 
if  they  looked  the  same  at  a  wedding  as  at  a 
funeral.  People  made  allowances;  forgave  their 
set  faces  because  of  their  deeds.  To  the  children 
Mrs.  Gordon  was  a  godsend.  She  never  smiled 
but  she  never  scolded.  Her  cookies  and  doughnuts 
came  out  without  an  invitation.  She  never  said 
stop  when  six  were  eaten  but  kept  at  her  work  in 
the  somber  fashion  of  her  family.  They  ate  and 
ate  but  they  never  got  to  the  bottom  of  that  magic 
crock.  Who  wants  a  smile  if  it  makes  you  stop 
when  you  have  eaten  six? 

Mr.  Gordon  was  a  deacon.    He  sat  at  the  end 
of  the  pew;  went  to  sleep  at  "secondly";  and 


188  MUD  HOLLOW 

never  woke  until  the  collection  plate  rattled.  He 
put  in  a  ten  for  foreign  missions,  a  five  for  home 
and  a  dollar  for  the  deacon's  fund.  The  children 
were  given  ten  cents  each ;  he  threw  a  bill  into  his 
wife's  lap.  Such  was  the  Gordon  recreation,  re- 
peated every  Sunday  with  a  formula  as  exact  as 
the  calendar.  Then  he  drew  up  his  horses,  counted 
his  children  and  went  home  to  repeat  the  tasks 
of  the  preceding  week. 

Mrs.  Andrew's  face  was  frozen  like  the  rest. 
Not  a  change  came  over  her  as  she  cared  for 
Ruth.  It  would  have  been  impossible  from  looks 
to  decide  whether  she  was  thinking  of  the  prophet 
Daniel  or  of  the  bread  in  her  oven.  She  acted 
on  instinct  and  followed  its  directions.  Now  in 
the  same  unconcerned  way  she  stroked  the  cheek 
of  the  sleeping  girl  when  a  tremor  shook  her 
frame.  The  spells  lessened  in  violence  and  the 
intervals  were  prolonged. 

Yes,  she  was  cold,  frozen,  unmoved  on  the  out- 
side ;  but  within  was  strange  flame,  a  pulse  which 
she  had  no  means  to  express.  She  felt  a  lump  in 
her  throat  which  her  muscles  suppressed  before 
it  could  rise  to  the  surface.  She  held  the  girl's 
hand  a  little  tighter  and  gazed  more  tenderly  on 
the  upturned  face.  Thus  came  a  feeling  of  kinship 
that  never  before  was  hers.  Love  binds  together 
and  makes  hearts  beat  in  unison  even  if  exteriors 
differ  in  color,  shape  or  warmth.  She  sat  and 
dreamed  but  it  was  a  dream  \vithout  a  voice.  The 
outer  chill  turned  her  thought  to  snow  before  it 
could  radiate  its  message.  At  last  a  slight  tremor 
passed  over  her  lips  as  she  raised  her  eyes  and 
said, 

'*0h,  God,  when  vdW  women  help  each  other 
out  of  this?" 


THE  EETURN  189 

XVIII 

The  Retukn 

Paul  woke  with  a  start.  It  was  dark,  merely  a 
rim  of  light  lay  on  the  horizon.  Elsewhere  a  dense 
fog  hiding  the  world  from  view  prevented  him 
from  knowing  where  he  was.  The  elevation  and 
broad  expanse  told  him  he  was  near  the  top  of  a 
mountain.  While  pondering  on  his  location,  the 
tinkle  of  a  bell  was  heard;  soon  a  lost  cow  came 
up  with  a  distended  udder,  her  gentle  look  seeming 
to  imply  that  she  sought  him  for  relief.  Paul 
drew  the  milk  directly  into  his  mouth.  His  blood 
now  flowed  with  renewed  vigor,  each  subordinate 
part  seemed  to  call  itself  together  and  send  up 
to  the  head  for  orders.  The  stings  of  yesterday's 
defeat  made  them  more  anxious  for  renewed  ac- 
tion. Were  they  to  blame?  ''If  so,  Paul,  give  us 
a  new  chance,"  they  cried.  The  head  alone  was 
indecisive.  Thoughts  in  abundance  rolled  along 
but  none  of  them  aroused  the  will. 

Paul  sat  on  a  log  and  pondered.  The  failure 
of  yesterday  forced  him  to  call  in  question  the 
ultimates  of  his  action.  For  the  first  time  Paul 
was  in  danger — in  danger  because  a  question  of 
God's  goodness  stole  upon  him.  He  had  always 
believed,  and  in  his  simple  way  had  taught  that 
evil  comes  from  the  corruption  of  a  full  stomach — 
from  the  making  of  blood  for  which  there  is  no 
use.  Throw  off  this  burden  through  work,  empty 
every  vessel,  open  every  gland,  and  evil  thoughts 
go  as  alcohol  disappears  from  an  open  jar.  What 
goes  out  through  the  skin  cannot,  sinking  to  the 
heart,  corrupt  it.  For  every  kind  of  badness  God 
has  given  a  physical  outlet.  Keep  it  open  and  no 
harm  can  come.  Paul  felt  that  he  could  say,  "All 
this  have  I  done  from  my  youth  up ; "  and  yet  he 


190  MUD  HOLLOW 

was  cursed  with  the  very  thoughts  that  his  mother 
had  warned  him  to  avoid. 

"Beware  of  idle  women.  They  are  a  snare 
through  whose  beauty  men  are  enticed  within  the 
gates  of  hell  before  they  are  aware  of  the  decep- 
tion. The  strength  of  Sampson  is  of  no  avail 
against  a  woman's  wiles." 

Yet  how  could  he  do  more  than  he  had  done? 
Was  God  to  disappear  from  without  as  his  mother 
had  been  displaced  from  within,  thus  leaving  both 
nature  and  mind  without  a  guide?  On  this  ugly 
question  Paul  pondered  in  spite  of  the  calls  for 
renewed  action  on  the  part  of  the  many  organs 
wanting  another  test  of  their  powers.  Could  it 
be  that  life  and  adjustment  after  all  were  an 
accident? 

As  Paul  was  thinking  a  blood-red  sun  arose 
above  the  mist  that  hung  over  the  landscape. 
There  was  in  the  sky  not  a  trace  of  color.  Fight- 
ing its  way,  the  sun  drove  the  mist  back  as  it 
advanced.  The  sky  above  where  a  victory  had 
been  won  was  of  a  silver  gray,  darkening  into 
a  purple  tinge  where  anything  was  reflected  from 
below.  But  the  valleys  and  the  hills  even  to  their 
tops  were  still  densely  covered  with  the  fog.  Oh, 
it  is  so  different  to  see  the  struggle  of  light  with 
darkness  from  above,  where  the  sun  and  its  allies 
are  at  work,  than  from  below  where  men  sit  in 
the  mist  and  wonder  if  light  will  come.  Paul 
rose  to  his  feet  in  interest  to  see  the  conflict. 
Slowly,  but  often  with  fierce  energy,  the  sun 
drove  the  mists  from  the  open  ground  and  then 
followed  them  into  the  narrower  valleys.  On 
each  more  distant  range  the  battle  was  fought 
anew.  When  the  mists  and  the  rays  collided  the 
mists  withdrew.  As  often  did  they  collect  again 
in  hidden  nooks  and  rush  forth  in  hope  of  keep- 
ing the  open  ground.  But  their  alert  foe  was  too 
quickly  on  their  track  for  any  concealed  action — 


THE  EETURN  191 

soon  all  was  clear  except  a  few  distant  nooks 
from  which  at  length  they  disappeared,  as  if  to 
husband  strength  for  another  struggle  under 
more  favorable  conditions.  AVhen  all  this  was 
done  the  silver  in  the  sky  became  more  bright 
and  each  tiny  particle  of  the  dispelled  mist 
seemed  willing  to  add  to  the  victory  of  the  light 
by  reflecting  back  some  of  its  glory. 

This  contest  and  this  result  brought  back  to 
Paul  his  old  confidence.  If  God  had  arranged  the 
relations  of  light  and  darkness  so  that  every  step 
in  the  victory  of  the  light  is  provided  for — that 
what  makes  darkness  and  doubt  is  turned  into 
an  element  which  adds  to  the  glory  of  the  light ; 
surely,  thought  Paul,  the  same  forethought  fixes 
the  relations  between  spirit  and  flesh.  The  flesh 
is  not  bad;  it  is  merely  displaced  goodness  for 
which  there  is  some  remedy.  ' '  There  is  an  outlet 
for  badness,"  said  Paul,  with  energy.  ''One 
must  only  keep  on  and  the  seemingly  bad  will 
become  an  agent  of  the  good. ' ' 

But  this  decision  left  Paul  no  better  off  than 
before.  He  had  done  all  he  could  and  still  the 
bad  thoughts  remained.  Where  could  the  solu- 
tion be?  His  body  called  loudly  for  action,  yet 
Paul  did  not  move.  His  will  seemed  gone,  burned 
out  in  the  struggle  of  yesterday.  His  will  thus 
far  had  dominated  his  muscles,  his  thought  and 
even  his  senses.  It  stood  as  a  stern  censor  of  all 
that  presented  itself — nothing  entered  that  did 
not  conform  to  the  rigid  canons  he  had  marked 
for  himself.  His  room  was  plastered  with  a 
thousand  and  one  rules  of  action — things  to  do, 
things  to  avoid;  each  of  these  his  indomitable 
will  made  the  basis  of  deeds  or  of  suppressions. 
Had  Paul  been  color  blind  the  world  of  beauty 
could  not  have  been  more  completely  shut  out. 
Emotions  never  swelled  up.  They  were  suppressed 
in  the  bud.     The  outer  world  did  not  make  his 


192  MUD  HOLLOW 

nerves  tingle.  It  was  a  place  to  act  not  to  observe. 
When,  on  their  walks,  the  Professor  stopped  to 
pick  a  flower  or  to  admire  a  scene,  Paul  became 
languid;  life  came  back  only  when  conversation 
resumed. 

Many  generations  of  Browm's  reacting  against 
the  world  had  conquered  its  obstacles,  but  they 
had  never  seen  it.  They  sent  out  currents  of  ac- 
tion, they  leveled  forests  and  cleared  fields,  but 
no  return  loads  ever  came  back.  Their  joy  was 
in  forceful  action  not  in  passive  admiration.  Hills 
and  valleys  were  alike  so  long  as  the  crops  were 
good.  Trees  were  lumber;  flowers  were  weeds. 
Paul  came  by  his  inheritance  rightfully  .enough; 
until  this  morning  he  was  true  to  his  ancestry. 
But  now  he  was  will-less;  impressions  stole  in 
through  gates  w^hich  had  ever  been  blocked.  The 
struggle  of  the  sun  with  the  mists  was  the  first 
thing  in  nature  he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  often 
been  in  mists;  he  could  explain  their  action,  but 
of  the  interaction  betw^een  them  and  the  sun  he 
had  never  thought,  much  less  stopped  to  observe. 
Miles  and  miles  he  had  run  through  forests,  by 
lakes  and  over  mountains,  but  his  only  joy  was 
in  the  obstacles  they  made.  His  pleasure  was  in 
the  flow  of  his  blood;  his  visions  were  self-made. 
Nature  was  nothing  to  him  but  a  field  in  which  to 
operate. 

Today  he  looked  at  leaves,  he  saw  the  outlines 
of  trees  and  heard  the  birds  sing.  The  suppressed 
eye  nerves  w^ere  for  the  first  time  permitted  to 
feast  on  their  natural  food.  Cry  as  his  muscles 
would  for  actien,  the  will  gave  no  response.  It 
was  dead,  a  new  ruler  had  come.  He  had  failed 
to  conquer  the  world;  the  world  was  to  conquer 
him.  As  he  rose  from  his  reverie  he  looked  for 
some  trail  to  guide  his  homeward  steps,  but  saw 
no  outlet.  It  was  all  forest.  Trees  big  and  little, 
bushes  and  shrubs,  surrounded  him  on  all  sides. 


THE  RETURN  193 

It  was  early  autumn  and  the  frost  had  just  begun 
its  work.  From  top  to  bottom  the  hillsides  were 
a  glow  of  color.  Pennsylvania  trees  like  to  grow; 
in  autumn  their  leaves  die  hard ;  in  their  struggle 
they  assume  all  sorts  of  form  and  shades  of  color. 
A  hundred  varieties  vie  all  summer  with  each 
other  for  life  and  each  adds  its  peculiarities  to  the 
l)eauty  of  autumn.  Such  is  autumn  ever  but  this 
day  was  peculiar.  It  was  one  of  those  combina- 
tions of  air,  light  and  shade  such  as  one  must  be 
up  early  to  find.  Many  see  sunsets  but  few  see 
it  rise.  The  freshness  of  the  morning  is  never 
reflected  by  the  setting  sun.  Evening  is  a  parched 
desert  in  comparison  with  the  fresh  glory  of  the 
early  day.  This  morning  surpassed  its  rivals. 
The  fog  had  moistened  the  leaves  and  left  a  mil- 
lion tiny  drops  to  reflect  the  sun's  first  rays.  Each 
tree  was  a  rainbow  and  each  leaf  mingled  its  own 
beauty  with  that  of  the  prisms  which  lay  on  their 
surface.  The  little  moment  before  the  sun  drinks 
the  dew  from  the  leaves  is  the  time  wdien  morning 
radiance  is  at  its  height. 

That  moment  Paul  caught,  or  better  said,  it 
caught  him.  He  had  no  will  to  seek  the  beauties 
of  nature.  They  rolled  in  on  him  as  he  sat  watch- 
ing the  changing  moods  of  the  world  about.  His 
nerves  tingled  with  pleasure  but  not  from  the  joy 
of  action.  It  came  from  the  passive  mood  of 
reflection. 

An  old  thought  which  he  had  often  rejected  stole 
in.  Could  beauty  be  useful?  Were  they  the  same 
or  opposing  categories?  The  answer  of  yester- 
day he  doubted  today.  He  thought  how  his  de- 
pression had  been  removed  by  the  conquest  of 
the  sun  over  the  mist.  This  struggle  had  a  mean- 
ing apart  from  the  moisture  and  heat  which  made 
growth  possible.  Then  came  a  vision  which  tore 
deep  holes  in  his  rigid  philosophy.  If  beauty  and 
utility  were  different,  if  God  added  one  to  the 


194  MUD  HOLLOW 

other,  each  must  be  useful  in  its  own  way.  * '  Beauty 
is  the  useful  in  the  bud,"  he  cried  as  his  new 
thought  began  to  place  itself  in  relation  to  the  old. 
*  *  Let  the  beautiful  alone  and  it  will  of  itself  turn 
into  the  useful. ' '  It  flashed  on  him  that  this  was 
what  the  Professor  had  often  said.  He  felt  dis- 
gusted with  his  stupidity  and  narro^vness.  How 
could  he  have  lived  so  long  and  learned  so  little? 
How  grievously  he  had  sinned  by  refusing  to  read 
the  message  God  had  written  on  the  leaves.  Trees 
were  useful;  trees  were  beautiful.  It  is  not  the 
gnarly,  deformed  trunk,  but  the  mighty  oak  that 
joins  usefulness  and  beauty.  Could  what  nature 
combines  so  genially  be  bad  when  we  find  them 
in  men?  Is  the  strong  man  bad  and  his  weak 
neighbor  equally  good  I  Do  men  need  codes  to 
cramp  them  into  exotic  forms  any  more  than  na- 
ture does  ? 

And  women  ?  Paul  quailed  when  he  applied  tliis 
philosophy  to  them.  Strong  admiration  of  his 
mother  shut  out  any  application  of  this  thought. 
She  was  useful;  she  was  pale,  stooping  and 
wrinkled.  God  would  have  made  her  different  if 
he  wanted  women  to  reflect  the  beauty  of  the  trees. 
Still  he  was  uneasy.  He  felt  there  was  a  gap  in 
his  thought  he  could  not  fill.  But  his  mother's 
face  blocked  the  only  path  which  led  to  a  possible 
solution. 

Finally  Paul  rose,  more  because  his  body  was 
calling  for  action  than  because  his  problem  was 
in  a  better  shape.  He  walked  slowly;  not  as  of  old 
getting  a  joy  from  testing  his  strength  against 
physical  obstacles.  "Oh,  dear,"  cried  the  muscle 
of  his  right  leg,  looking  at  his  pedometer,  ''not 
three  miles  an  hour  and  down-hill  at  that. ' '  And 
even  that  speed  was  not  kept  up,  soon  orders 
ceased  and  muscles  stopped  action.  ''What  is  the 
matter  now?"  cried  an  astonished  muscle.  "It  is 
curious  to  have  this  stop  so  early  in  the  morning." 


THE  RETUEN  195 

*  *  A  picture, ' '  cried  the  eye  from  his  conning  tower. 
''What  is  a  pictured"  asked  the  muscle  of  the 
loin.  ' '  This  stupid  muscle  is  only  used  to  do  great 
deeds  and  hence  knows  little  of  ordinary  events. 
"A  picture,"  said  the  eye,  "is  something  for 
women  to  dawdle  over  when  they  cannot  think  of 
anything  else  to  do ;  then  the  men  must  stand  by 
and  pretend  to  be  interested. ' ' 

The  facts  were  that  Paul  had  struck  a  trail  lead- 
ing to  a  house.  Through  the  unfastened  door  he 
entered.  It  was  an  artist's  den,  or  at  least  some 
one  lazy  enough  to  put  pictures  on  the  wall  had 
occupied  it.  There  was  something  in  them  that 
attracted  Paul,  in  his  present  mood.  Ordinarily 
he  would  have  followed  the  impulse  of  his  body 
and  run  along  the  hills  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
doing,  but  now  he  w^as  thinking  about  women — 
useless  women — and  that  made  art  seem  attrac- 
tive. His  eye  fell  on  a  battered  Madonna  that 
hung  by  one  corner  on  the  wall.  He  trembled  as 
he  looked,  for  the  face  brought  up  the  image  of 
the  specter  Ruth  from  which  he  had  tried  so  hard 
to  escape.  Was  it,  thought  he,  a  new  form  of  his 
old  enemy?  A  useless  woman  in  a  new  garb?  But 
Paul  was  determined  to  examine  more  closely  so 
as  to  test  the  truth  of  the  resemblance.  He  tore 
it  from  the  wall  and  seating  liimself  looked  at  it 
carefully.  He  was  attracted,  not  repulsed  as  he 
had  expected  to  be.  Yes,  the  figure  was  Ruth's 
but  was  it  so  because  of  an  actual  resemblance 
or  because  Ruth  was  a  woman — a  natural  attitude 
in  which  the  budding  girl  clothes  herself?  The 
face  was  so  pleasing  that  he  began  to  doubt  if  she 
were  really  bad.  If  bad,  was  it  her  fault?  This 
thought  gave  him  courage  for  further  reflection. 
He  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  on  the  track  of 
another  of  woman's  wrongs.  Suppose  the  artist 
had  protected  instead  of  degrading  her,  would  she 
not  have  been  even  more  pleasing?    The  longer 


196  MUD  HOLLOW 

he  thought  the  freer  he  felt  the  women  to  be  from 
blame.  Oh,  that  women  could  be  protected;  then 
their  natural  qualities  would  have  a  place. 

His  thought,  however,  came  back  on  his  mother 
as  an  ever-recurring  center ;  then  the  old  associa- 
tions, aroused  with  renewed  vigor,  blurred  the 
sweetness  of  the  model's  face.  Seeing  her  bare 
hips  and  shoulders,  he  cried,  "She  does  not 
dress!"  "But  was  she  ever  taught T'  came  up 
in  his  mind  as  an  excuse  and  once  more  he  thought 
of  Ruth.  Would  she,  he  wondered,  dress  as  he 
asked  her  I  Had  he  ever  done  itf  Surely  girls 
are  not  to  blame  if  friends  do  not  try  to  keep 
them  in  the  right  path.  He  sprang  up  at  the 
thought  and  started  on  briskly.  Yes,  he  would  ask 
her ;  if  she  would,  then  he  could  stay  at  Bowman. 
But  if  not?  He  stopped  again.  Would  he  then 
accept  Professor  Miller's  offer  and  get  relief  by 
his  absence  I  But  the  book  would  have  to  go ;  his 
justification  of  his  mother  would  never  reach  the 
world.  Could  he  leave  Eutli  to  the  mercy  of  her 
situation,  defenceless  and  helpless  without  him? 

Had  he  as  formerly  feU  her  depraved,  he  could 
have  done  this ;  but  that  now  he  believed  her  to  be 
a  reversion — a  girl  appearing  a  thousand  years 
behind  her  time  with  all  the  innocence  of  the  prim- 
itive woman — this  was  not  a  possible  solution. 
No,  he  must  return  and  face  the  situation.  At 
least,  the  real  Ruth  was  not  so  bad  as  the  specter 
Ruth.  With  this  consoling  thought,  he  started 
homeward  and  now  went  fast  enough  to  satisfy 
his  muscles'  cry  for  exercise. 

He  looked  across  the  campus,  toward  the  house 
where  he  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours.  To 
him  it  meant  work,  duty  and  pleasure.  The  outer 
world  had  been  his  also.  The  ridge  with  its  many 
paths ;  long  avenues  where  the  trees  are  straight ; 
the  grass  so  clear;  the  shrubs  grow  with  such  lux- 
uriance that  they  seem  not  the  work  of  nature 


THE  KETURN  197 

but  of  some  master  who  in  a  conscious  way  shapes 
the  woods  to  meet  his  needs.  Paul  felt  himself 
the  owner  of  all  these  stretches  for  he  alone  en- 
joyed them  to  the  full.  The  morning  light  was 
made  for  him,  for  no  one  else  came  to  see  it  except 
the  birds.  There  is  nothing  so  exhilarating  as  a 
fresh  run  in  the  open  w^oods  nor  anything  so 
quickening  to  thought.  So  Paul  was  happy  in  his 
work,  happy  in  the  wood.  Then  came  Ruth  to  mar 
the  work;  then  the  specter  to  spoil  the  wood. 

Of  one  thing  he  was  certain.  Between  the  two 
he  preferred  Ruth  to  the  specter.  He  wanted  no 
revival  of  yesterday.  To  the  woods  he  could  not 
go,  to  the  house  he  must.  The  thought  came  back 
— perhaps  she  would  dress  if  he  asked  her  to.  But 
the  asking  he  well  knew  would  have  a  price.  He 
w^as  aware  that  it  would  be  a  kiss  or  more.  Could 
he  be  true  to  mother  and  kiss  a  useless  girl?  "But 
was  she  useless,"  came  a  pleading  thought?  It 
made  Paul  start,  for  it  sounded  like  a  voice.  Some 
new  recess  within  or  without  was  breaking  its 
bonds.  It  was  like  the  close  of  a  long-fought  bat- 
tle when  at  some  angle  a  foe  rushes  in.  The  voice 
said,  "Love  her.  Put  feeling  in  the  kiss  and  all 
w^ill  go  well. '  ^  Then  came  another ;  the  plain  con- 
trast made  him  shudder.  His  mother 's  hand  was 
hard  and  firm.  Her  dress  was  plain.  On  her 
face  were  lines  that  told  of  sorrow  but  when  lit 
up  with  love  became  an  inspiration.  Humble  as 
she  was  you  would  not  wonder  at  her  power  if  you 
had  seen  her  as  husband  and  son  saw  her.  Back 
of  the  seeming  hardness  of  face,  there  was  a  some- 
thing that  made  her  impressive.  No  wonder  the 
son  stood  entranced  and  cried,  "My  wife  must  be 
like  her. ' ' 

Over  against  her  stood  a  girl  with  soft  white 
hands,  a  darkish  face  with  rosy  lips.  There  was 
not  a  line  or  trace  of  sorrow  on  her.  Her  hands 
did  no  work;  her  life  knew  no  pain.     From  her 


198  MUD  HOLLOW 

eyes  there  had  never  fallen  a  tear.  Life  had  been 
one  long  joyous  round.  Protected  by  the  loving 
care  of  a  father,  she  never  knew  the  pains  other 
girls  suffer  nor  the  discipline  that  numbs,  de- 
grades and  hardens.  What  was  this  girl  to  Paul? 
He  tried  to  think.  The  old  feeling  of  opposition 
was  gone ;  he  was  convinced  that  she  was  a  rever- 
sion to  the  simple  maid  of  ten  thousand  years 
ago.  When  he  ceased  to  think  her  depraved  she 
became  an  object  needing  protection.  Now  she 
was  an  object  of  interest,  but  like  any  old 
curiosity  it  was  an  idle  interest  that  could  not 
arouse  so  great  a  nature  as  Paul's. 

The  picture  of  the  Madonna  had  carried  him 
on  a  step.  If  he  were  an  artist,  he  would  picture 
his  mother  smiling  at  the  setting  sun  after  she  had 
loaded  the  wagon  with  hay  twenty  times  that  day. 
' '  Oh,  the  smile  of  a  working  woman, ' '  he  said,  * '  is 
worth  a  hundred  Madonnas."  Paul  was  partly 
right,  crude  as  were  his  notions  of  art.  He  stood 
with  a  cleft  in  his  thought  for  the  useless,  con- 
tented with  the  useful ;  between  them  there  seemed 
no  compromise.  Paul  hated  to  bribe  a  girl  with 
what  he  felt  was  not  true  coin.  Yet  some  bribe 
was  needed  to  keep  tlie  peace.  In  what  coin  then 
should  it  be  paid  I  As  he  paced  the  room  in  the 
vain  endeavor  to  solve  the  riddle  his  eye  fell  on 
an  unopened  letter.  More  for  relief  than  aught 
else  he  opened  it  and  found  it  was  from  Professor 
Miller. 

''The  President  of  Milford  University  has  con- 
sulted me  about  a  candidate  for  their  chair  in 
economics.  I  told  him  of  several  young  men  of 
promise  of  whom  you  were  one.  He  chose  you 
immediately.  'I  want  a  man,'  he  said,  'who  com- 
bines world  force  with  intellectual  alertness. 
Brown  may  have  done  less  than  some  of  the  others 
but  I  am  delighted  to  know  of  a  man  with  such 
high  ideals  and  the  power  to  carry  them  through!' 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  199 

"Now,  Paul,"  continued  Professor  Miller,  *'I 
want  you  to  view  tliis  in  a  different  light  from  our 
previous  offers.  I  admire  your  loyalty  to  Bow- 
man, but  it  is  after  all  a  small  place  with  only  a 
local  influence.  Milford  is  a  university  that  sets 
the  pace  for  the  whole  country;  in  it  the  world's 
moral  tone  is  determined.  I  appreciate  your  in- 
tellectual promise  as  much  as  anyone;  but  your 
athletic  ability,  combined  with  the  well-known 
spirit  of  fairness  you  put  into  all  your  activities, 
gives  you  a  wealth  of  qualities  that  few  possess. 
I  appeal  to  you — does  not  your  duty  demand  that 
you  give  these  powers  the  greatest  scope  for  their 
exercise?  The  tomorrow  of  our  universities  de- 
pends on  the  today  of  their  athletes." 

Paul  could  not  but  be  touched  by  this  tribute 
to  his  powders.  A  thought  struck  him  that  seemed 
to  offer  a  solution  of  his  difficulties.  He  would 
not  want  to  go,  but  neither  would  Ruth.  Bowman's 
athletics  had  been  her  joy.  His  staying  would  be 
the  price  he  would  offer  for  peace.  If  she  would 
dress,  if  she  would  stay  demurely  in  her  place,  his 
work  could  go  on,  the  book  be  written  and  Bow- 
man flourish.  If  not — he  was  too  quickly  in  mo- 
tion toward  the  house  to  finish  the  sentence. 


XIX 

The  Hall  of  Waiting 

Not  finding  Ruth  in  the  house  he  sought  her  in 
the  garden,  where  she  was  seated  in  her  bower 
talking  to  imaginary  friends. 

"Oh,  Paul,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come.  We 
have  so  long  waited  for  you.  Let  me  show  you 
our  retreat. ' '  She  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led 
him  about. 

"This  is  the  Hall  of  Waiting:  only  those  come 


200  MUD  HOLLOW 

here  who  have  heroes  doing  great  deeds.  Heroes 
go,  they  never  come — so  we  must  sit  and  wait. 
Each  tells  the  others  of  her  hero.  For  us  he  is 
one  and  each  newcomer  has  some  fresh  tale  to  tell 
of  what  he  is  doing.  There  is  Mary.  She  once 
saw  a  game  won  by  a  hero  who  dashed  along  until 
the  coveted  goal  was  his.  Each  step  in  all  this 
drama  Mary  saw  and  loves  to  relate.  It  does  us 
good,  Paul,  to  know  that  there  was  a  hero  who 
won  for  Bowman.  This  is  Tillie.  She  saw  the 
great  runner  speeding  across  the  open  country. 
Many  kept  on  for  awhile  and  once  another  was 
in  the  lead  but  in  the  end  they  all  lagged  back 
and  the  hero  rushed  across  the  goal  alone.  Grace 
saw  him  wrestle.  Each  in  his  turn  was  thrown 
until  the  hero  stood  unquestioned.  So  with  the 
others — Lilly,  Eva,  Minnie  and  the  rest.  Each 
has  seen  some  great  deed  done  and  loves  to  tell 
us  of  it  as  we  wait. 

' '  While  we  wait  we  fix  up  places  to  receive  the 
hero.  This  is  the  seat  for  those  that  never  come. 
Here  is  the  Arch  of  Triumph  for  him  that  always 
goes.  He  is  so  big  we  could  scarcely  reach  up  to 
decorate  it.  It  just  fits  you,  Paul.  Come  and  see 
how  nice  you  look  going  through.  This  is  the  flag 
of  Bo^\TQan.  It  is  for  the  greatest  hero  she  has 
sent  forth.  He's  gone — he's  going — he's  on  the 
way  to  greater  deeds;  when  they  are  done  we'll 
wave  the  flag  anew  to  signal  him  to  come  home. 
Will  he  come,  Paul?  That  is  what  we  all  want  to 
know.  Oh,  it  is  so  hard  to  wait  and  wait  and  not 
to  know  when  the  deeds  are  done  that  will  bring 
the  valiant  home.  Still  we  wait ;  what  else  can  we 
do  to  keep  us  busy  while  the  tomorrows  we  yearn 
turn  themselves  into  yesterdays  that  bring  us 
nothing  ? ' ' 

She  looked  up  pleadingly  in  his  face  as  if  to 
get  an  answer.  But  Paul,  slow  and  tongue-tied, 
could  not  clearly  see  what  all  this  meant.     Her 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  201 

gay  attire,  the  wreaths  and  emblems,  all  seemed 
to  indicate  some  festive  occasion  for  which  many 
were  expected.  Yet  she  was  here  alone.  He 
thought  of  his  errand  and  was  pleased  to  think 
that  today  at  least  her  attire  was  satisfactory. 

*'How  nicely  you  are  dressed,"  he  finally  said. 

*'So  you  like  dresses,  too?"  she  asked.  "Oh, 
that's  nice.  We  who  wait  vie  with  each  other 
to  see  who  will  win  the  hero 's  glance.  How  shall 
we  dress?  Shall  we?  Do  you  like  color  or  form? 
Shall  the  dress  be  high  or  low?  I  rather  like  a 
train,  do  you,  Paul?" 

So  she  ran  on  doing  all  the  talking,  yet  appeal- 
ing to  him  at  every  turn.  With  her  quick  percep- 
tion she  read  his  wish,  helped  him  make  his  choice 
without  his  slow  tongue  being  once  moved  to  full 
expression.  He  thought,  however,  he  had  told  her 
all  he  meant  and  that  she  had  acquiesced  in  his 
view.  If  this  were  the  real  Euth  willing  to  stay 
in  the  Hall  of  AVaiting — why  should  he  go  to  Mil- 
ford? 

The  girl  wanted  to  know  why  he  came ;  when  she 
saw  a  troubled  look  pass  over  his  face  she  knew 
the  explanation  was  due.  She  waited  but  the  wait 
was  so  long  that  at  last  she  asked, 

"Why  have  you  come,  Paul?  I  see  that  some- 
thing troubles  you.  Is  there  some  fact  you  do  not 
like  to  tell?  Oh,  tell  it  quickly,  Paul,"  she  said 
beseechingly.  "Waiting  is  worst  of  all.  One 
can  stand  it  when  the  hero  is  far  away  but  when 
he  is  here  moments  are  agony,  if  it  keeps  his  wish 
in  suspense." 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  Milford?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied.  "Papa  took  me  there 
once  to  a  convention.  He  heard  the  talks  and  I 
saw  the  buildings.  I  thought  it  would  be  so  nice 
to  live  there  with  those  great  halls,  libraries  and 
museums ;  but  best  of  all  were  the  fine  houses  for 
the  boys.     I  thought  of  Bowman  with  its  poor 


202  MUD  HOLLOW 

dorms  and  my  heart  sank  within  me  at  the  com- 
parison. But  when  I  came  home  I  said,  'I  like 
xMilford,  but  I  love  Bowman,'  and  so  I  am  con- 
tented to  stay  here. 

*'Do  you  like  Milford,  Paul?  You  used  to  be 
there  often  playing  ball  and  once  since  as  umpire, 
were  you  not?" 

''I  may  go  again  and  stay,"  said  Paul.  "Read 
this." 

Ruth  read.  A  burst  of  joy  ran  through  her  as 
she  read.  Paul  deserved  all  that  was  written  and 
more  too,  thought  the  girl.  But  there  was  a  tinge 
of  displeasure  when  she  read  of  Professor  Miller's 
opinion  of  Bowman's  smallness. 

"He  does  not  know  us,  Paul,"  she  said.  "If 
he  would  come  and  see  for  himself  he  might  admit 
we  were  in  the  race  for  greatness,  too. ' '  She  stood 
a  monument  absorbed  in  thought;  then  her  face 
beamed,  a  queer  light  shone  in  her  eyes  as  she 
seized  the  red  and  blue  banner  in  one  hand  and 
the  national  emblem  in  the  other.  Springing  on 
the  bench  she  waved  them  aloft.  Had  she  been 
conversant  with  Sunday  School  tableaux  she 
might  have  been  supposed  to  be  doing  the  conven- 
tional stunt.  But  of  posing  she  was  free.  She 
had  never  mingled  with  picnic  crowds.  To  her  it 
was  a  natural  outburst  of  joy,  a  consequence  of 
long-felt  inner  yearning  coming  to  the  surface. 
She  was  passing  from  the  stage  of  passive  ap- 
preciation of  a  world  behind,  to  an  active  partici- 
pation in  a  world  ahead.  She  had  a  vision  of 
work,  a  call  to  reap  in  God's  harvest.  She  was 
not  sex  but  action.  Ahead  were  noble  deeds. 
Her  eyes  shone  as  the  stars  and  her  dark  cheek 
turned  pale.  The  uplifted  arm  made  her  seem  like 
a  goddess  bearing  aloft  the  torcli  of  progress. 

"Oh,  Paul,  let's  make  an  Oxford  of  Bowman. 
Let's  redeem  Pennsylvania.  New  England  is  a 
frozen  place.    God's  light  glitters  not  there,  but 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  203 

on  us.  Pennsylvania,  Pennsylvania,"  she  cried 
waving  aloft  the  red  and  the  blue,  ''once  you  led 
the  world!    Do  it  again." 

**  Bowman,  Pennsylvania,  the  world — what  a 
trio  to  chain  to  our  chariot  wheels !  What  trophies, 
what  laurel  wreaths,  what  world  records  to  de- 
posit in  the  hall  of  fame ! ' ' 

''Come,  Paul,  on  to  the  fight.  The  cohorts  must 
be  faced.  I  see  them — dragons,  scorpions,  ser- 
pents, night-walkers,  black,  black  ravens.  Ugh! 
they  look  fierce,  but  they  will  turn  at  our  approach. 
What  Bo\vman  did  to  Penn  we  can  do  to  them. 
Oh,  Paul,  Paul,  that  is  better  than  6  to  4. " 

She  approached  Paul;  put  her  arm  in  his.  In- 
teresting sight,  he  in  the  land  of  doubt,  she  on 
the  hill  of  expectation.  Ahead  of  him  was  nought 
but  mist  and  confusion :  she  looked  down  the  slope, 
across  the  river  to  Huddleton's  glum  factories, 
longing  to  attack  this  citadel  of  Pennsylvania 
woe.  The  cloud  of  smoke  visualized  to  her  the 
thousands  of  dull,  pained  lives  it  hid.  Each  flare 
meant  somebody's  pain,  somebody's  danger. 
Often  had  she  looked  and  longed  but  no  visible 
mode  of  attack  appeared.  Now  a  thought  came. 
They  could  rush  down  the  slope,  wipe  a  stain  from 
Pennsylvania  honor.  Paul  was  irresistible;  he 
always  won.  No,  no,  they  would  not  run  off 
through  the  forest  on  a  magnificent  charger.  They 
Avould  cross  the  river,  attack  McCabe  in  his 
stronghold.  McCabe,  the  treasurer  and  fund- 
gatherer  for  the  Republican  party;  he  who  cor- 
rupted the  legislatures  and  blocked  reform. 

Bowman  was  above  the  clouds.  There  dwelt  her 
people — pure,  serene  and  happy  yet  without  vision. 
Barton  when  he  sought  money  to  build  a  new 
chapel  said,  "Bowman  is  safe;  her  professors 
walk  the  streets  of  Athens  in  the  morning  and 
spend  the  afternoon  at  Oxford."  Huddleton  never 
saw  the  sun.     Filth  and  tin  cans  were  its  orna- 


204  MUD  HOLLOW 

ments,  rum  its  joy:  noise  deadened  its  groans: 
smoke  hid  the  sights  from  which  the  town  got  its 
name.  Men  riding  home  from  a  24-hour  shift; 
little  girls  torn  from  bed  to  drag  weary  hours  in 
the  silk  mill.  Why  seek  distant  grails  when  the 
dragon  throve  on  neighbors'  blood?  McCabe 
first;  then  mount  the  charger  for  their  mystical 
adventure. 

So  thought  the  girl,  pressing  forward  as  if  she 
would  go  that  instant.  Her  companion  was  as 
ever,  an  immovable  rock.  He  could  boom  a  town, 
fight  a  duel,  buck  the  line,  go  over  the  top,  or  seek 
Captain  Kidd's  treasure,  yet  he  could  not  realize 
that  girls  were  unwilling  to  sit  demurely  on  the 
elaborate  pedestal  he  had  reared  for  them.  If 
Buth  were  in  a  dragon's  den  he  could  break 
through  its  walls,  but  wiien  rescued  he  could  not 
let  her  trudge  by  his  side  to  share  in  victories  yet 
to  be  won.  He  did  not  want  his  mother  to  bake 
pies — he  scorned  Colonel  Saunders  for  this  praise 
— yet  he  had  never  asked  himself  what  mother 
was  to  do.  His  eye  turned  backward,  not  ahead. 
Oh,  for  mighty  leaps,  great  stunts,  undo-able  feats. 
The  hoarse  voice  of  God  would  have  aroused  re- 
sponse; but  not  pleading.  A  mighty  mobile  is 
he  v/hose  starter  does  not  work.  He  had  all  the 
virtues  of  the  decalogue  doubly  compounded.  He 
had  kept  the  commandments  from  his  youth  up 
and  Christ's  as  well.  Generous,  sympathetic,  un- 
selfish, yet  a  queer  turn  in  his  idealism  thwarted 
it  all.  He  could  work  for  woman  but  not  with  her. 
Team  work  was  not  in  his  vocabulary.  So  he 
turned  his  companion  from  an  inspiration  into  a 
tempter.  Her  sex  unconsciousness  was  merely  a 
bait  to  increase  his.  As  she  stretched  out  her  arm 
toward  the  town  to  beckon  him  on,  her  sex  charm 
was  made  more  evident  by  the  fact  she  was  un- 
aware of  it.  Curious,  is  it  not?  Woman  is  near- 
est sex  when  she  is  farthest  from  it.    If  she  would 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  205 

only  dress,  hide  herself  beneath  folds  of  cloth, 
then  he  could  say,  "Stay  and  work."  Yes,  but 
for  whom?  Not  to  fight  McCabe  but  to  review 
ancient,  long-forgotten  woes.  He  felt  the  pressure 
on  his  arm  but  did  not  yield.  She  was  above  the 
sex  level  to  which  he  was  pinned.  Who  said 
woman  was  sex?    No,  it  is  man. 

So  they  stood,  a  blaze  of  enthusiasm  and  a 
monument  of  resistance.  He  wanted  to  talk  but 
could  not.  She  yearned  to  act,  was  ready  to  face 
danger,  the  world ;  nothing  but  a  conquered  world 
was  her  quest.  A  beautiful  vision  which  Paul  was 
just  the  man  to  fill. 

There  was  a  look  of  confidence  as  she  looked 
up  into  his  face  and  cried, 

"Yes,  yes,  Paul,  we  can  redeem  Pennsylvania. 
We  can  make  the  world. ' ' 

It  should  be  noticed  she  said  "we,"  not  "you." 
Her  vision  was  not  of  a  waiting  for  the  hero's 
return  nor  of  being  a  picture  on  the  w^all,  but  of 
work,  struggle  and  conquest.  The  ive  should  face 
the  world  together,  one  in  thought,  one  in  action. 
She  could  toil  in  the  hayfield  or  face  sacrifices  as 
great  as  those  of  Paul's  mother — if  she  could  do 
it  hand  in  hand  with  a  mate.  Together  nothing 
is  a  task;  apart,  nothing  is  gain. 

It  would  make  a  happy  ending  if  it  could  be 
recorded  that  the  two  arm  and  arm  at  once  faced 
the  future  together  in  her  spirit  and  his  strength. 
The  story  then  could  end  right  here  in  a  blaze  of 
glory.  Yes,  this  is  the  place  for  the  horn  to  blow 
and  the  rocket  to  mount  the  sky.  But,  however 
pretty  the  picture,  it  would  be  a  lie.  Men  are  not 
ready  for  such  a  solution.  Kisses  and  candy — ^yes, 
they  are  good  providers.  A  picture  on  the  wall,  a 
statue  in  the  park;  some,  not  all,  are  ready  for 
these,  but  from  real  comradeship  and  mutual  par- 
ticipation men  shrink.  In  fact,  neither  Paul  nor 
the  Professor   stood  in  as  good  a  relation  to 


206  MUD  HOLLOW 

womankind  as  did  Rev.  Samuel  Dickson.  Mrs. 
Dickson's  acts  were  often  misguided,  but  she  was 
a  force  that  all  must  respect  even  if  they  did 
not  admire.  Mr.  Dickson  always  said  "we"  and 
meant  it.  Paul  and  the  Professor  always  thought 
in  terms  of  "  I "  or  if  they  said  "  we  "  they  meant 
' '  we  males. ' '  In  spite  of  the  book  on  which  they 
toiled,  in  spite  of  the  zeal  for  woman's  wrongs, 
in  spite  of  their  affection  for  "Mother"  and 
"Ida,"  they  were  still  without  the  walls  of  the 
golden  city,  like  Moses  they  looked  at  the  prom- 
ised land  from  afar. 

Had  Paul  been  an  artist  seeing  the  glow,  the 
zeal,  the  eagerness,  he  would  have  been  inspired. 
But  Paul  was  a  dreamer,  yes,  more,  a  dreamer  of 
male  dreams.  The  reality  he  missed;  so  went 
astray  when  a  momentous  decision  was  open  to 
him.  He  saw  classes  and  groups  while  she  saw 
persons.  Both  had  imagination  but  his  vision 
presented  what  the  race  had  done — hers  what  it 
yet  had  to  do. 

Every  woman  is  a  combination  of  Joan  of  Arc 
and  a  madonna.    To  her  she  is  a  Joan,  and  would 
dash  ahead  to  some  world  conquest.    To  him  the 
woman  is  the  madonna,  never  the  Joan.    He  sees 
sex  where  she  sees  action.    To  go  means  to  the 
bridal  chamber,  not  to  victory.    All  art,  all  litera- 
ture, all  life  is  nothing  to  him  but  a  repetition 
of  the  same  sex  theme.     Whether  it  be  frontal 
picture  of  a  magazine,  the  thrill  of  a  story  or  the 
voice  of  siren  song,  his  interest  fades  unless  the 
madonna  looms  in  the  background.     Hence  he 
drags  Joan  from  her  pedestal,  turns  her  campaign 
of  action  into  a  brutal  love  feast.     So  it  was,  is 
and  always  will  be.    Paul  was  a  man,  a  good  man, 
yet  with  all  the  traits  and  blemishes  of  other  men. 
A  million  years  of  evolution  cannot  be  remade  in 
a  generation.     Therefore,  he  failed  as  the  Pro- 
fessor failed  on  the  night  of  Ruth's  confession. 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  207 

He  could  not  throw  off  his  maleness  and  be  human. 
He  swung  forward  under  the  pressure  of  some 
internal  repulse  and  yet  did  not  move.  The  strug- 
gle was  deep  enough  to  make  him  confused,  but 
not  ardent  enough  to  free  his  soul.  Like  the  Pro- 
fessor on  the  similar  occasion  he  tried  to  justify  a 
course  of  action  which  had  instinct,  not  reason, 
behind  it.  The  renunciation  he  wanted  and  his 
reasons  for  it  would  not  pair. 

Paul  talked,  and  as  in  all  his  talks  he  blun- 
dered. Then  in  confusion  he  rambled.  He  could 
not  make  his  sentences  go  anywhere  but  she,  like 
any  quick-witted  girl,  could  catch  the  meaning 
from  a  broken  flow  of  words.  Before  Paul  had 
really  started  to  set  his  stern  conditions  she  was 
clear  through  them  and  far  beyond.  She  stopped 
him. 

''Paul,  which  means  more  to  you — the  book 
you  write  or  teaching?  Would  you  write  or  talkl'^ 

"Oh,  Ruth,  the  book  means  most  to  me.  I  had 
rather  make  men  think  well  of  women  than  to 
make  them  myself.  It  is  the  power  of  mothers 
that  we  need.  My  small  stock  of  morality  would 
not  go  far  at  Milford  if  the  boys  did  not  quicken 
at  the  thought  of  their  mothers." 

"Then  stay,  Paul,  and  let  me  help.  Girls  are 
useless  toys  and  toys  are  sometimes  out  of  place. 
But  in  the  Hall  of  Waiting  we  can  amuse  each 
other  while  those  who  do  are  doing." 

The  puzzled  look  was  still  on  Paul's  face.  He 
wanted  to  speak  and  make  things  clear.  What  he 
had  thought  seemed  now  out  of  place  and  new 
thoughts  did  not  come.    At  last  he  blurted  out, 

' '  I  could  work  better  if  I  were  left  alone.  Some- 
times men  need  help,  and  sometimes  not.  A  book 
is  a  struggle  with  wiiat's  within.  The  confusion 
is  in  one's  head  and  not  outside.  For  it  there  is 
no  help  except  the  slow  clambering  toward  the 
light  that  each  must  do  for  himself.     Even  my 


208  MUD  HOLLOW 

motlier  now  has  left  me.  Let  me  alone:  when  I 
reach  the  light  I  will  bring  back  a  message  that 
will  cheer.  I  want  to  help  Avomen ;  raise  them  all 
to  Mother's  level.  My  work  is  for  women  but  it 
is  through  men  I  must  work;  they  hold  the  key 
to  woman's  life;  I  must  teach  them  to  make  the 
change  I  want.  While  I  work  I  must  be  a  man 
and  see  the  world  as  men  do.  Woman's  day  is  yet 
to  come.  Ours  was  yesterday;  theirs  is  tomor- 
row. ' ' 

Throughout  this  talk  Ruth  had  listened  in  great 
expectation ;  she  had  hoped  that  Paul  would  find 
a  place  for  her.  But  near  its  close,  when  the  point 
was  clear,  the  tears  were  glistening  in  her  eyes. 
She  did  not  weep,  however,  nor  even  let  her  dis- 
appointment be  shown  in  the  quiver  of  her  lip. 
She  turned  quickly  and  cried, 

''Paul,  I  have  one  more  thing  to  show.  Those 
who  have  to  wait  have  one  more  device  to  pass 
the  time.    Come,  see  the  Hall  of  Trophies." 

She  led  him  to  a  quiet  nook  where  over  all — on 
every  bush  and  shrub — were  flags,  trophies,  balls 
and  other  emblems  of  atliletic  sports. 

"To  this  place  the  waiting  come  to  live  over 
the  pleasures  that  once  were  but  now  are  gone. 
In  those  days  there  were  heroes  with  us  and  we 
were  with  heroes.  What  they  did  leaves  a  pleas- 
ing impress  but  the  thought  is  more  enduring  if 
some  token  in  remembrance  of  the  deeds  is  kept 
and  cherished.  The  woman  sees  and  waits.  The 
hero  does  and  goes.  To  her  the  great  was  yester- 
day— a  thing  that  was;  to  him,  it  is  tomorrow — a 
deed  to  do,  a  blow  to  strike,  a  word  to  write.  So 
she  has  a  view  of  what  has  been ;  he  a  promise  of 
what  is  to  be.  Each  has  a  pleasure;  while  they 
smile  they  pass,  for  she  looks  back  and  he  goes  on. 
They  cannot  face  each  other  again  until  he  has 
made  his  mark,  and  coming  home  unites  the  is  of 
today  with  the  was  of  yesterday.     Look  back, 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  209 

Paul,  and  see  what  has  been,  as  seen  by  one  who 
saw  but  did  not  act.  Oh,  that  is  wrong.  Once 
I  went  myself,  I  could  not  wait.  'Twas  yesterday. 
Can  you  forgive  me,  Paul — for  yesterday?" 

She  looked  up  pleadingly  while  Paul  gave  a 
start  that  she  could  not  interpret.  Paul 's  yester- 
day was  a  vivid  run  from  Ruth.  How  could  she 
know  of  it,  he  thought?  Even  if  she  did,  why 
should  she  ask  forgiveness?  She  could  not  wait 
for  Paul  to  see  the  point.  It  was  so  nice  to  have 
him  here  looking  at  her.  Oh,  that  for  which  she 
wished  had  come.  Paul  had  come  and  looked.  His 
eyes  never  for  a  moment  were  off  her.  This  w^as 
a  taste  of  heaven  she  could  not  lose.  She  must 
keep  him  and  enjoy  the  look.  What  is  the  bitter- 
ness of  tomorrow  in  comparison  to  a  moment's 
bliss  today? 

*'Look,  here  is  a  handkerchief  with  a  stain.  It 
is  my  blood,  Paul.  Once  I  jumped  from  path  to 
path  while  the  boys  were  in  chapel  on  the  opening 
day.  As  I  jumped  I  fell  and  cut  my  face.  At  first 
I  was  faint  and  motionless;  then  I  felt  the  pres- 
ence of  some  one  bending  over  me.  Looking,  I 
saw  a  boy,  the  biggest  boy  I  ever  saw,  yet  he 
was  a  boy,  Paul,  although  bigger  than  a  man. 
He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  tied  my  face  with  his 
handkerchief.  Then  he  sat  me  on  the  grass  and 
said, '  You  jump  so  fine  I  '11  see  if  I  can  do  as  well 
myself.'  Then  he  jumped,  and,  oh,  you  should 
have  seen  how  his  muscles  acted.  Each  did  its  part 
that  very  first  day  as  well  as  now.  I  laughed  with 
pleasure  to  see  so  fine  a  leap.  He  jumped  and 
jumped  again  to  make  me  laugh,  the  merrier  my 
laugh  the  farther  he  jumped.  Then  the  boys 
came  gathering  to  see  him  jump  still  farther.  Who 
could  this  fair-haired  lad  be?  I  must  tell  the 
boys  of  a  new  hero.  I  thought  of  the  handkerchief, 
tore  it  from  my  head  and  looked.  There  was 
written  on  it  in  a  mother's  hand, '  Paul. '    I  jumped 


210  MUD  HOLLOW 

to  my  feet  and  cried — 'This  is  Paul,  boys.    He'll 
break  a  record  yet  for  Bowman.' 

"Do  you  see  this  stone,  Paul?  By  it  I  remem- 
ber the  first  day  you  ran  in  the  -freshman-sopho- 
more contest.  They  jeered  the  lubber  as  he  first 
came  up  and  mocked  him  as  he  ran.  Twice  around 
the  sophomore  gained;  louder  came  the  cries  of 
scorn ;  some  rang  a  cowbell  in  derision.  *  Why  put 
an  ox  in  a  sport f '  they  cried  and  jeered  the  louder. 
The  third  round  went  an  even  race,  but  as  they 
passed  the  sophomore  had  a  heated  face  and 
gasped  for  breath.  But  the  tread  of  the  ox  was 
firm,  his  breath  was  free.  They  turned  the  last 
quarter  neck-and-neck,  but  now  the  freshman  took 
a  spurt  and  came  on  in  a  double  pace ;  his  great 
feet  tore  the  gravel  from  its  place  and  one  stone 
came  rolling  into  my  lap.  This  is  it.  Where  was 
the  sophomore?  Oh,  he  lay  beside  the  track.  They 
dropped  the  cowbell  to  help  him  up  while  Paul 
crossed  the  line  in  victory.  This  was  the  begin- 
ning and  soon  came  better  tilings. 

"This  flag  I  waved  the  day  the  Cornell  team 
came  to  run  a  cross-country.  The  start  was  even; 
we  waited  long  to  see  the  return.  At  last  we  saw 
some  one  dimly  through  the  trees.  Was  it  the 
giant  or  the  kid?  At  the  first  we  could  not  say, 
but  when  I  saw  great  stones  come  rolling  down  the 
slope  and  tree-tops  wave  in  unison  with  a  mighty 
tread  I  did  not  wait  to  see  the  face.  I  jumped  and 
cried, '  It  is  Paul.  Paul  and  Victory ! '  There  are 
other  banners — a  score  or  more — and  each  brings 
up  a  pleasing  picture  of  a  victory.  But  this  alone 
I'll  wave  again.  I  carried  this  the  day  we  won 
from  Pennsylvania.  Look  at  it,  Paul,  6  to  4 — 
why  was  it  6  and  why  not  more  than  4?  It  was 
'Paul!  Paul!  Paul!'  We  all  shouted  until  we 
could  not  speak  and  then  we  rose  and  waved  our 
flags.    It  was  all  for  Paul  and  victory. 

"Now   Paul    thinks    of   leaving   Bowman.     A 


THE  HALL  OF  WAITING  211 

larger  duty  calls  him  hence.  But  can  there  be  a 
greater  duty  than  the  one  he  owes  to  Bowman? 
Bowman  is"  Paul  and  Paul  is  Bowman.  Their 
greatness  is  one  and  inseparable.  Come,  Paul, 
let's  shout  for  Bowman  once  more  and  make  the 
woods  resound  as  of  old.  Here  is  the  flower  that 
stands  for  Bowman.  Let  me  put  it  on  your  breast. 
Do  not  fear — I'll  not  react  this  time  as  once  I 
did,  Paul.  Can  you  forgive  me  that?  Some  pres- 
sure from  within,  I  don't  know  what,  raised  my 
lips — and  then  the  impulse  carried  me  on.  It 
was  so,  Pauh    But  do  not  fear  me  now."^ 

But  again  she  raised  her  lips  and  again  looked 
longingly  in  his  face.  Paul  started,  hesitated  and 
wore  that  pained  expression  which  always  came 
when  thought  and  action  were  not  clear. 

"Promise,  Paul,  you  will  not  leave,  at  least  not 
until  the  book  is  done  and  mother's  honor  vindi- 
cated." Paul  took  her  hands  and  looked  her  full 
in  the  face.  "I  promise  that,"  he  said,  "to  you 
and  Bowman." 

"I  will  make  a  promise,  too.  You  shall  not  be 
the  only  one  who  makes  a  sacrifice  for  Bowman. 
There  is  the  hall,  the  study  and  the  book.  They 
are  yours.  The  way  is  clear.  Go,  Paul,  work  in 
leisure.  You  need  your  time  and  strength  with 
no  one  to  bother.  Keep  the  rose.  Let  it  remind 
you  of  duty  and  Bowman.  And  I'll  wait  here  and 
cheer  those  who  must  abide  in  the  Hall  of  Waiting 
until  the  hero's  return.    Go,  the  path  is  clear." 

She  led  him  part  of  the  way;  then  stopped  and 
watched  him  move  on.  She  felt  a  great  stirring 
from  mthin  and  very  faint,  but  she  must  not  show 
it.  A  mighty  resolve  held  her  until  he  turned  a 
corner.  Then  her  cheek  paled;  the  garlands  she 
wore  dropped  as  in  sympathy.  As  she  sank  she 
looked  up  imploringly  and  sobbed, 

*  *  Oh,  God,  what  a  crime  to  be  a  woman. ' ' 


212  MUD  HOLLOW 

XX 

His  Vision  Cleaks 

Paul  went  slowly  down  the  path.  Too  agitated 
to  think  of  writing,  he  left  Euth  not  because  he 
willed  to  do  so  but  at  her  command.  Half  a  dozen 
times  as  he  walked  along  he  felt  like  turning  back. 
Once  he  stopped  but  could  think  of  no  good  excuse 
for  his  return.  There  was  a  charm  about  Ruth 
he  never  before  had  felt;  her  words  that  at  first 
confused  him  now  began  to  have  a  meaning.  He 
kicked  the  stones  from  the  path  for  a  time;  then 
the  old  thoughts  of  duty  and  mother,  rising 
afresh,  brought  new  decision.  *'It  is  for  the 
best,"  he  said,  ''now  I  can  work;  when  my  work 
is  done  I'll  find  what  all  this  means."  He  went 
on,  not  to  his  work  but  to  his  room.  Taking  out 
his  notes,  he  tried  to  get  them  in  shape  for  the 
next  conference.  The  chapter  was  on  "Narrow- 
ing Woman 's  Activities. ' ' 

This  was  a  lecture  Paul  had  given  with  great 
pleasure.  Now  he  hoped  to  incorporate  it  into 
the  book.  But  as  he  viewed  the  notes  the  thought 
stole  over  him  that  he  was  not  living  up  to  his 
own  standard.  Yet  how  he  failed  he  could  hardly 
fathom.  He  must  be  free,  untrammelled.  The 
work  was  for  all  women.  Should  not  a  single 
woman  be  willing  to  help?  He  only  asked  what 
was  the  good  of  both.  So  he  argued;  yet  the  rea- 
soning did  not  quite  suit  him. 

The  picture  of  the  girl,  her  smiles  and  tears, 
kept  coming  to  disturb  him.  He  rose  and  paced 
the  room.  The  more  he  paced  the  less  the  unison 
of  his  thought  and  the  deeper  did  the  picture 
work  into  his  being.  That  sweet  uplifted  face 
kept  coming  back.  It  was  a  face  he  had  often 
shut  out  but  now  as  it  came  with  renewed  force 


HIS  VISION  CLEARS  213 

Paul  had  no  will  to  resist.  Before  it  had  meant 
passion,  now  it  meant  resignation  and  tears. 
Could  she  be  bad  and  yet  so  sweet?  Could  one 
love  Bowman,  for  Bowman  yield,  and  yet  be  what 
he  had  so  often  thought  her!  What  had  he 
thought  her-  On  this  Paul  was  not  quite  clear. 
He  could  recollect  reaching  a  fine  decision  but  the 
run  of  his  thought  was  now  gone;  he  feared  he 
had  wronged  Ruth.  Could  he  have  misjudged 
her?  He  trembled  at  the  thought  for  it  seemed 
a  dreadful  thing. 

What  had  he  said?  Was  he  stern,  cold,  or 
worse?  Did  he  cause  the  tears  and  did  her  lip 
tremble  because  his  words  were  harsh?  He  went 
to  his  desk  and  read  anew  the  speech  he  intended 
to  make.  When  Paul  wrote  this  he  thought  it 
embodied  the  spirit  of  sacrifice;  now  it  seemed 
the  essence  of  selfishness.  What  right  had  he  to 
make  her  sit  in  the  Hall  of  Waiting  while  he 
worked?  If  the  world  were  to  be  divided,  was 
it  not  selfish  to  take  it  all  for  himself,  saving  a 
small  nook  in  the  garden? 

He  tried  to  think  that  the  good  of  all  stood 
over  against  the  good  of  one,  but  now  this  thought 
seemed  trite.  He  stamped  his  foot,  walked  the 
floor ;  as  he  walked  it  seemed  that  all  he  had  ever 
thought  of  Ruth  had  been  said  to  her  in  the  gar- 
den. He  could  not  get  it  straight.  Had  he  called 
her  bad?  Had  he  said  she  was  a  reversion?  Had 
he  implied  that  she  was  not  fit  for  the  free  world? 
Had  he  said  that  she  dragged  him  down? 

*'I  must  have  said  it  all,"  thought  he,  '*or 
worse.  It  was  on  my  mind  and  had  I  not  said  it, 
why  the  tears?"  The  trembling  form  seemed 
now  to  prove  that  he  was  harsh;  the  beseeching 
look  seemed  to  ask  for  justice.  Paul  trembled. 
A  feeling  stole  over  him  he  never  before  had 
known.     The  little  girl  stood  before  him  plead- 


214  MUD  HOLLOW 

ing  for  her  rights,  while  a  selfish  tyrant  gloated 
in  his  power  to  crush. 

Out  of  the  confusion  one  clear  thought  arose. 
It  made  Paul  shake  in  anguish.  He  went  to  the 
window  and  with  his  open  fist  gave  a  tremendous 
blow;  then  he  struck  his  head  with  equal  force. 

*'I  have  done  a  mean,  degrading  thing,"  he 
cried.  ''There  is  a  blot  on  my  soul  I  can  never 
efface.  That  I  should  stoop  so  low — to  take  ad- 
vantage of  a  woman " 

Up  to  this  time  Paul's  muscles  and  nerves  had 
worked  in  unison.  Orders  from  above  were  car- 
ried along  quickly,  each  muscle  did  its  part  and 
then  waited  in  silence  for  a  new  command.  Now 
all  this  discipline  disappeared.  Movements 
seemed  to  start  at  any  point  and  when  once 
started  they  rolled  along  from  one  extreme  to 
the  other  in  entire  disregard  of  the  ordinary 
routes.  Muscles  strove  against  each  other;  he 
seemed  broken  up  into  a  hundred  units,  each  act- 
ing for  itself.  Paul  threw  himself  about  the  room 
and  stamped  his  feet. 

At  last  decision  came. 

''She  shall  not  stay  in  the  garden,"  he  cried. 
"The  Hall  of  Waiting  is  no  place  for  her.  She 
has  been  free — let  her  be  free  again.  The  house 
is  hers.  The  study  is  hers.  Let  her  come  and 
go  as  she  will.  Let  her  sit  and  see  us  work  as 
she  has  done  in  former  days. 

"Yes,  yes,  she  shall  have  her  liberty.  I  shall 
not  narrow  the  life  of  the  one  woman  I  know 
even  to  make  the  rest  go  free.  Go  to  the  garden 
when  you  will,  but  be  equally  free  to  join  us  in 
the  work.  I  shall  go  and  tell  her  so.  I'll  take 
back  all  these  conditions  and  be  no  longer  the 
cause  of  tears.  I've  been  a  fool,  a  damned  fool." 
He  bit  his  lip  as  if  to  recall  an  impious  expres- 
sion, yet  he  felt  relieved,  as  no  other  phrase 
ruited  his  mood. 


HIS  VISION  CLEARS  215 

He  left  the  room  and  started  across  the  campus. 
But  as  he  went  he  walked  more  slowly.  Finally 
he  stopped.  The  old  difficulties  were  rising  up  in 
a  new  form,  fuiding  shelter  again  behind  liis 
mother.  Her  last  talk  before  he  went  to  college 
came  up  fresh  but  now  somehow  he  caught  a  re- 
semblance between  his  mother  and  Ruth.  AVhat 
could  it  be?  The  stopping  was  to  think  of  this. 
The  shape  of  his  mother,  rising,  blocked  his  way. 

Up  to  this  time  Paul  had  always  thrown  the  em- 
phasis of  the  talk  on  the  first  part ;  he  had  ahvays 
seen  his  mother's  look  as  she  had  said,  ''Beware 
of  useless  women.  They  are  a  snare  from  which 
even  strong  men  have  no  protection. ' '  Jii  this  he 
could  see  no  resemblance  to  Ruth.  But  now 
another  look  revived.  It  came  with  her  closing 
words  when  he  had  said  he  would  marry  a  woman 
just  like  his  mother. 

' '  No,  Paul,  not  like  me — like  what  I  might  have 
been. ' ' 

It  was  this  look,  sad  but  expressive,  that  now 
reminded  him  of  Ruth.  What  was  it  his  mother 
might  have  been  that  she  was  not!  Paul  had 
often  said  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  added  to 
the  glory  of  her  life ;  he  felt  tliis  now  as  fully  as 
ever.  But  what  had  his  mother  meant?  Why  did 
her  look  remind  him  of  Ruth?  Was  there  some- 
thing in  a  woman  he  did  not  understand?  Were 
there  longings  that  a  life  like  his  mother's  did 
not  fulfill?  To  this  thought  Paul  could  give  no 
answer ;  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  less  satisfy- 
ing was  the  trip  to  Ruth.  He  must  solve  this  new 
difficulty.    So  he  turned  back  to  think  it  out. 

To  Paul  his  mother  meant  work  and  duty.  Even 
his  earliest  recollections  gave  her  the  character 
by  which  she  was  afterwards  known.  For  home 
and  family  Mrs.  Brown  toiled ;  no  one  ever  heard 
a  word  of  complaint  nor  did  her  pleasing  smile 
ever  depart.    She  was  cheerful ;  the  hardest  day's 


216  MUD  HOLLOW 

work  seemed  only  to  give  her  increased  freshness. 
Her  pains,  if  she  had  any,  she  kept  to  herself. 
Her  family  never  heard  of  them.  So  what  was 
it?  Paul  queried  what  she  would  have  been  that 
she  was  not.  He  had  heard  the  oft-repeated  tra- 
dition that  his  parents  were  the  handsomest 
couple  that  ever  entered  the  old  church;  but  to 
Paul  handsome  in  a  woman  meant  vigor,  work 
and  duty.  "No  wonder,"  thought  he,  "that 
father  was  proud  to  walk  beside  such  a  woman. ' ' 
So,  too,  would  he.  Paul  called  to  mind  the 
many  occasions  when,  after  dressing  his  father's 
wounds  and  helping  him  rise,  he  had  kissed  her 
hand,  called  it  soft  and  white ;  often  he  had  named 
her  his  flaxen-haired  darling.  "You  are  just  as 
lovely,  just  as  lovely,  as  you  were  when  a  bride." 
When  the  tears  came  to  his  mother's  eyes,  the 
honest  Paul  thought  his  father  was  joking.  He 
kicked  his  father's  knee  and  sturdily  sought  to 
defend  her.  "She  is  not  soft  and  white.  Father, 
nor  is  her  hair  flaxen.  Her  hand  and  arm  are 
as  hard  as  yours,  or  mine,  and  she  works  much 
more.    Why  do  you  call  her  names!" 

"Paul,"  said  his  father,  kissing  his  mother's 
hand  again,  "you  do  not  see  straight.  Your 
mother  is  as  she  was,  a  fair-haired  girl.  Others 
change,  but  she  is  the  rose  she  was  yesterday. 
Some  day,  Paul,  you  will  see  your  mother  as  she 
is."  But  this  the  slow-thinking,  realistic  Paul 
could  not  see.  His  mother  was  not  a  beauty.  She 
was  a  worker,  good  and  true.  He  resented  the 
words  that  made  his  mother  cry. 

Now  these  scenes  touched  Paul  in  another  way. 
Could  it  be  that  his  mother  in  any  way  resembled 
Euth?  Had  his  mother  ever  been  a  free,  happy 
girl  with  no  thought  other  than  to  pass  the  day? 
That  it  could  be  so  at  first  displeased  him.  It 
seemed  to  detract  from  the  beauty  of  the  char- 
acter he  so  dearly  loved.    But  he  must  know  what 


HIS  VISION  CLEARS  217 

all  this  meant.  How  could  he  find  what  his  mother 
had  been,  and  what  it  was  she  might  have  been 
for  which  she  cherished  so  strong  a  wish? 

Mother  was  gone.  Father  was  gone.  Oh,  how 
he  wished  he  could  ask  his  father.  But  it  was  too 
late.  He  thought  of  the  old  soldiers  still  remain- 
ing who  would  know  of  his  mother's  youth.  He 
felt  impelled  to  make  inquiries.  But  a  better 
thought  came.  At  his  mother's  death  he  had  ac- 
quired his  father's  letters,  written  during  the  war. 
Paul  held  these  so  sacred  that  he  had  never  open- 
ed them.  Now  he  felt  a  longing  to  read  them  and 
to  see  what  they  told  of  his  mother. 

Paul  took  them  down,  read  letter  after  letter. 
They  told  of  war,  of  deeds,  but  they  told  also  of 
love.  ''Think  of  your  wives  as  you  fight,"  was 
that  tradition  recorded  as  Captain  Brown's 
maxim.  His  letters  showed  that  he  was  ever  con- 
scious of  his.  He  again  and  again  referred  to 
the  beauty  of  her  in  such  terms  that  Paul  could 
not  doubt. 

Then  came  the  last  letter.  "We  had  a  fight 
last  week.  I  was  so  badly  wounded  that  I  could 
not  write  before.  I  fell  in  the  charge  and  lay  for 
hours  between  the  lines,  helpless,  Avith  shot  and 
shell  pouring  over  me.  It  was  a  wonder  I  was 
not  killed  as  many  others  were.  But  as  I  lay  my 
relief  was  to  take  out  that  old  picture  of  you — 
the  first  you  ever  let  me  have.  It  is  a  fragment 
now,  having  been  broken  three  times  by  shots  that 
have  struck  me.  The  face  is  still  left  with  just 
enough  of  the  rest  to  be  a  reminder  of  you.  The 
front  view  you  cannot  see  but  there  is  an  angle 
hard  to  find  which  brings  out  the  face  as  fresh 
as  ever.  So  I  lay  under  fire,  holding  up  the  pic- 
ture once  in  a  while,  getting  the  slant  that 
brought  my  angel  to  me.  Oh,  what  a  blessing  it 
is  to  have  a  wife  so  beautiful  that  the  sight  of  her 


21B  MUD  HOLLOW 

stills  the  pain  of  wound  and  thirst.  God  has 
indeed  been  good." 

This  letter  gave  to  Paul  a  new  conception  of 
the  mother.  In  such  a  place  his  father  could  not 
have  wished  to  plague  his  mother.  He  must  at 
least  have  felt  what  he  wrote.  "Oh,  could  I  see 
my  mother  as  father  saw  her."  As  he  said  it  he 
felt  a  sharp  something  in  the  bottom  of  the  pack- 
age which  proved  to  be  what  was  left  of  that  pic- 
ture at  which  his  father  gazed.  It  was  broken 
in  a  dozen  places,  its  edges  testifying  to  its  rough 
usage.  Which  was  top,  which  was  bottom,  which 
the  sides,  could  no  longer  be  told  by  an  inspec- 
tion. It  was  merely  an  irregular  piece  of  glass. 
Paul  seized  and  held  it  up  with  a  happy  laugh. 
Now  he  might  find  the  truth.  But  move  it  as  he 
would,  no  picture  came  in  sight.  There  were 
rough  blotches  on  it.  Paul  turned  to  wash  them 
off,  but  then  the  thought  stole  over  him  that  it 
was  his  father's  blood  dried  on  the  picture. 
Could  he  wash  off  his  father's  blood  to  view  it? 
He  shuddered,  but  finalh^  he  cried, 

' '  I  must  see  mother.  Father,  forgive  the  sacri- 
lege.   I  must  see  her  as  you  have  seen  her." 

Soon  the  plate  was  clear.  Paul  again  searche  I 
for  the  angle  which  would  bring  out  the  vision 
he  sought.  But  in  vain.  Turn  it  as  he  might  the 
angle  could  not  be  found.  At  last  he  rushed  to 
the  window  and  held  it  far  outside.  And  then — 
was  it  accident,  was  it  some  fresh  ray  of  light 
or  was  it  an  inspiration  f  There  stood  out  as  if 
alive  the  sweet,  fresh  face  of  a  growing  girl. 

''Mother,"  cried  Paul,  ''mother,  it's  mother." 

So  it  was.  The  face  was  at  once  different  and 
yet  just  the  same  as  the  face  he  knew.  When 
the  two  were  brought  togetlier,  the  woman's  face 
seemed  to  be  changed  and  absorbed  into  the  girl's. 
Paul  could  not  now — try  as  he  would — bring  back 
the  dark,  sober  face  of  his  mother.    She  became 


HIS  VISION  CLEARS  219 

to  him  the  girl  she  always  was  to  the  father.  Thus 
Paul  recognized  what  his  mother  had  been  and 
what  was  in  her  mind  when  she  said,  "Not  like 
me,  but  like  what  I  miglit  have  been. ' '  He  jumped 
to  his  feet  at  the  thought.  "My  mother  was  a 
beauty,"  he  cried,  "just  like  Ruth.  It  was  the 
war  and  its  burdens  that  made  her  hard  features. 
She  wished  to  have  had  another  life  and  might 
have  had  it  but  for  the  duties  which  that  war 
imposed.  Once  she  was  free,  happy  and  innocent. 
She  took  a  burden  which  was  not  her  own ;  the  dis- 
figurements it  created  were  taken  by  me  to  be  her 
real  form.  Oh,  mother,  can  you  forgive  me  so 
base  a  thing?  I  have  wronged  you.  I  thought 
you  ugly  when  all  that 's  ugly  was  in  me. ' ' 

Then  Paul's  thoughts  ran  back  over  the  many 
misconceptions  of  women  that  he  had  entertained. 
"Yes,  I  have  wronged  you  and  all  the  women  I 
have  known.  Girls  are  not  made  for  work.  Their 
duties  are  fixed  by  nature ;  let  nature  set  the  time. 
If  they  have  feeling,  interest  and  love  should 
they  be  despised?  No,  let  them  be  what  nature 
wills. 

"Yes,  I  have  wronged  my  mother,  I  have 
w-ronged  Ruth.  Ruth  has  said  that  I  would  break 
a  world's  record;  I  have  done  so.  Who  else  has 
so  misconceived  the  interest  tliat  women  have  had 
in  him?  Mother  is  gone,  but  Ruth  is  here.  To  her 
I  will  show  repentance  that  will  right  myself  with 
w^omen.    Yes,  to  her  I'll  go  and  seek  forgiveness." 

With  action  suited  to  his  words  Paul  rushed 
across  the  campus,  toward  her  house.  He  did 
not  stop  at  the  gate  but  jumped  the  fence  with 
a  bound.  Every  muscle  was  now  alert ;  mind  and 
body  were  once  more  in  unison.  Each  part,  re- 
mindful of  yesterday,  was  now  keyed  so  high  that 
wdth  the  jump  each  strove  to  do  more  than  its 
part.  "That  was  a  fine  jump,"  cried  the  eye 
from  above.    "We  cleared  the  fence  bv  at  least 


220  MUD  HOLLOW 

eight  inclies."  Paul  thought  not  of  this  but 
rushed  to  the  house,  through  the  study,  into  the 
garden,  then  back  again.     Ruth  he  did  not  find. 

While  this  was  going  on  Ruth  had  returned  to 
the  house.  He  had  asked  her  to  dress.  What 
should  she  Avear?  How  could  she  make  herself 
resemble  his  mother?  A  happy  thought.  In  a 
chest  were  her  mother's  belongings,  together 
"with  many  heirlooms  of  preceding  generations. 
She  tried  them  on,  one  after  the  other,  fixing  her 
hair  to  match  the  pictures  of  their  owners.  Which 
would  Paul  like?  Which  would  remind  him  of 
mother?  She  tried  this,  she  tried  that.  None 
seemed  exactly  to  satisfy. 

Suddenly  a  heavy  step  was  heard  in  the  hall, 
a  familiar  step,  the  one  she  wanted  to  hear,  but 
for  which  she  was  not  yet  prepared. 

The  step  distanced,  going  down  the  path  to  the 
garden.  Now  it  was  coming  back.  ''Where  is 
she?"  she  heard  him  call. 

She  knew  he  was  coming.  She  seized  and  cast 
aside  many  garments  but  could  not  decide  which 
to  wear.  AH  was  confusion,  a  helpless  confusion; 
neither  mind  nor  hand  was  fitted  for  the  task 
they  should  perform.  The  step  crossed  the  study, 
again.  She  trembled  as  it  approached  her  door 
but  could  not  stir  either  to  dress  or  call. 

Paul  entered  without  a  knock.  He  thought  in 
terms  of  spirit  not  of  body;  was  not  in  reality 
but  in  a  world  of  dream.  He  had  always  gone 
straight  to  his  goal.  She  was  his;  he  was  hers. 
Why  should  the  lack  of  dress  bar  his  way?  The 
spectre  Ruth  had  made  clothes  unimportant. 

There  was  a  spell  on  both  of  them.  He  could 
not  talk;  she  could  not  dress.  He  was  spirit; 
she  naked  flesh  save  for  the  garment  with  which 
a  woman  never  parts.  The  color  left  her  face, 
she  trembled  as  he  approached;  then  with  a 
scream  she  fled  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  seizing 


HIS  VISION  CLEARS  221 

a  dress  to  partly  hide  her  bareness.  Often  had 
she  planned  such  a  scene.  Now  when  it  came  she 
shrank  from  its  consequences.  Her  father's  talk 
had  done  its  work.  She  had  learned  her  lesson; 
Paul  had  liis  yet  before  him. 

''What  do  you  want!"  she  cried.  "Why  are 
you  here?" 

' '  I  want  you, ' '  he  blurted  out. 

''Never,"  she  cried.  Straightening  herself,  she 
seemed  inches  taller  in  her  dignity  and  earnest- 
ness. Paul  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own 
thought  to  think  what  he  was  doing,  as  others 
would  see  it.  Nor  was  he  in  a  mood  to  quail  before 
opposition.  He  seized  her  and  drew  her  to  him. 
The  eager  muscles  overdid  their  task.  Yet  the 
pressure  did  not  hurt  Ruth.  She  seemed  to  come 
under  a  charm  that  made  her  mind  and  muscles 
fail.  As  the  charm  increased  somehow  the  feeling 
crept  over  her  that  Paul  meant  her  no  harm.  Ho 
drew  her  to  himself  and  kissed  her  many  times  and 
then,  holding  her  in  his  hands  he  raised  her  far 
above  his  head,  and  looked  at  her. 

Recoiling,  Ruth  tried  to  break  loose.  She  had 
thought  she  would  like  to  be  captured  but  facing 
capture  she  rebelled:  nor  did  she  know  she  was 
modest  until  her  modesty  was  tested. 

' '  You  are  mine,  mine  only.  My  lost  mother  you 
must  replace." 

Ruth  shook  her  head. 

' '  The  book,  the  book,  you  should  write  the  book. 
In  it  there  is  no  place  for  me. ' ' 

"So  I  thought  an  hour  ago.  Then  mother  and 
you  stood  opposed — ^now  you  blend.  The  book 
and  you  are  one.  'From  girl  to  womanhood,' 
that  will  make  a  new  chapter  in  which  you  shall 
be  the  inspiration  and  the  model." 

"Oh,  the  joy  to  have  heard  that  an  hour  ago. 
Then  I  loved,  wanted  to  be  yours.  Now  I  want 
freedom,  self-expression,  a  test  to  show  my  mettle. 


222  MUD  HOLLOW 

Men  seek  the  unknown — strive  for  the  impossible 
— why  should  not  IP' 

^'Why  test  the  impossible  when  a  completed 
realm  is  at  hand?  Think  of  mother,  her  glory 
and  praise.  Not  only  I  but  the  whole  town  saw 
her  nobility  and  bowed  in  adoration.  Beauty  and 
virtue — what  more  can  a  woman  ask  than  to  be 
respected  in  her  own  right!" 

"Paul,  were  you  like  your  father  a  victim  of  a 
cruel  war,  helpless  and  dependent,  I  could  care 
for  you  as  your  mother  did  for  him.  You  are  not 
that,  but  a  giant  dragging  his  victims  behind 
his  chariot.  I  know  how  it  is.  1  cheered  with 
the  rest  to  see  deeds  done  in  which  I  had  no  part. 
But  another  epoch  has  dawned!  The  joy  of  life 
is  not  in  being  captured  but  in  offering  self  in 
love.  Yesterday's  hope  is  the  terror  of  today. 
You  are  a  brute.    Let  go." 

The  eager  driving  look,  the  look  that  meant  con- 
quest and  brought  admiration,  faded  from  his 
face,  yet  his  hands  were  too  palsied  to  obey  her 
command. 

Ruth  peered  at  the  beckoning  glow  without  and 
then  at  Paul.  Freedom  and  love  stood  opposed. 
At  length  the  zeal  for  self-expression  conquered. 

"Yesterday,  'he  is  mad,  she  did  it'  echoed  down 
the  street.  The  reaction  made  me  like  your  mother. 
When  I  put  on  my  mother's  clothes  I  felt  like  her, 
but  when  I  took  them  off  I  felt  relieved.  To  be 
happy  I  must  be  myself.  I  cannot  be  like  my 
mother — a  picture  on  the  wall,  nor  like  yours — 
a  burden-bearer  of  woes  she  did  not  make." 

"Oh!  Ruth,  do  not  say  that.  My  mother  was  a 
burden-bearer  and  yours  a  picture.  But  they  were 
more!  Think  of  my  father,  your  father  and  me. 
What  could  we  be  without  you  ?  When  broken  men 
came  home  in  defeat  harsh  tasks  fell  on  women. 
Now  tasks  fall  on  men.  Be  to  me  what  your 
mother  was.    She  made  your  father — make  me." 


HIS  VISION  CLEARS  223 

*'No,  Paul.  The  wall  is  no  place  for  me,  nor 
am  I  a  hospital  to  relieve  distress.  But  were  I 
to  choose  between  your  mother's  tasks  and  my 
mother's  smiles  I  would  be  your  mother  and 
not  mine.  I  can't  run  races  nor  buck  the  line.  But 
I  have  muscles  and  mind.  They  are  designed  for 
use.^  What  it  is  I  must  find  by  testing  myself 
against  the  world.  Yesterday  I  would  not  have 
dared  to  do  it.  The  sound  of  a  creaking  limb  made 
me  shriek.  But  today — oh!  Mrs.  Andrew,  how  I 
thank  you  for  the  lesson — I  know  a  woman's  ter- 
rors are  within — not  without.  In  this  new  mood 
I  must  see  the  world.  I  must  be  a  partner;  feel 
that  I  give  as  much  as  I  get.  It  is  work  that 
should  inspire.  When  all  have  tasks  and  common 
goals — then  we  can  love.  For  that  men  are  not 
ready:  some  want  slaves,  some  wall  pictures  but 
none  wish  to  give  woman  a  place  under  the  sun. 
Yes,  a  place  under  the  sun — I  like  that  phrase.  It 
expresses  a  need;  for  it  I  must  seek.  Good-bye; 
my  new  yearnings  will  lead  me  I  know  not  where, 
but  I  follow  them — I  must. ' ' 

She  advanced  and  offered  her  hand;  as  she 
looked  into  Paul's  troubled  face  she  came  under 
his  spell  and  was  tongue-tied  as  he. 

There  they  stood  inches  apart  in  body  and  miles 
apart  in  thought.  Each  felt  the  stress  of  new- 
found power  and  the  glow  of  a  new  ideal  yet 
neither  could  transfer  this  thought  to  the  other 
and  thus  span  the  breach  that  yawned  between 
them. 

So  they  stood  with  a  wall  in  front  which  kept 
them  apart  and  a  wall  behind  which  prevented 
retreat.  Each  seemed  guilty  of  fault.  Their 
external  and  internal  matched 'as  little  as  did  their 
thought.  Finally  Ruth  broke  the  charm.  She 
turned;  the  setting  sun  throwing  fagots  in  her 
eyes  lured  her  on. 

''The  world,   the   world,   the  great  throbbing 


224  MUD  HOLLOW 

world.  From  it  I  came,  to  it  I  go.  "Weary  feet 
are  better  than  a  throne  of  thorn. ' ' 

A  tramp,  a  rustle  and  Paul  stood  alone.  His  face 
flushed  and  paled  by  turn.  Thought  strove  with 
msh.  Then  muscle  won.  Springing  after  he  laid 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  cried, 

' '  If  you  go  I  go ;  where  is  McCabe  ? '  * 


XXI 

McCabe 

It  would  not  be  fair  to  McCabe  to  judge  him 
through  Ruth's  eyes.  At  least  the  Hnddleton 
News  should  be  heard  in  his  defense.  The  two  are 
one.  McCabe  owns  the  steel  mill,  the  paper  and 
everything  in  Huddleton  except  the  silk  mills 
which  Tupper,  Strauss  &  Co.  control.  When  re- 
formers were  placed  on  the  Bowman  lecture  course 
the  News  entered  a  protest  insinuating  that  a 
discredited  agitator  was  the  source  of  the  move- 
ment. This  w^as  a  drive  at  Professor  Stuart.  No 
names  were  used.  The  Professor  had  too  many 
friends  to  be  openly  attacked  even  by  the  omni- 
potent McCabe. 

Still,  the  statistics  quoted  by  the  News  are 
worthy  of  consideration.  A  spot,  so  it  said,  which 
had  been  the  rendezvous  of  loafers  and  horse 
thieves  had  been  transferred  by  McCabe  into  an 
enterprising  town  of  75,000  inhabitants.  There 
were  103  churches,  27  schools  and  acres  of  three- 
deck  houses.  All  these  were  owned  by  McCabe, 
who  standing  on  his  wide  porch  went  into  ecsta- 
sies over  the  improvement. ' '  That ! "  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  viewed  from  afar  the  glowing  mills  and 
the  acres  of  crowded  tenements.  ''That  is 
about  as  near  heaven  as  the  multitude  can  get.'* 

Yes,  plenty  of  bread  and  potatoes.    No  danger 


McCABE  225 

of  starvation  and  a  chance  for  the  maimed  to  be 
supported  by  their  children  in  the  silk  mill.  Mc- 
Cabe  said  it  was  better  to  have  children  trained 
by  Strauss  than  to  support  orphan  asylums.  He 
had  never  been  in  the  region  from  which  the  peo- 
ple came,  but  if  his  description  were  even  in  a 
measure  correct,  Pennsylvania  is  a  Paradise  and 
he  a  world  benefactor.  The  profits  of  the  mill 
had  increased  17  per  cent.,  wages  19  per  cent., 
showing  nicely  that  the  workers  had  gained  more 
than  he  from  his  masterly  enterprise.  A  glance 
at  the  figures  also  showed  that  house  rent 
had  increased  240  per  cent.,  the  McCabe  acres 
having  a  book  value  of  $820,000  instead  of  the 
original  $12,000.  They  also  revealed  that  food 
values  had  increased  90  per  cent.,  giving  convinc- 
ing proof  of  the  tariff.  Just  who  paid  these  bills 
is  obscure  but  it  could  not  be  those  whose  dinner 
pails  looked  full,  but  smelt  of  cabbage  and  rotten 
beef.  Nor  was  it  made  clear  how  ]03  churches 
draped  in  somber  hues  could  offset  372  saloons  of 
rainbow  attraction. 

So  much  for  statistics.  A  view  showed  that 
churches  were  barns  projected  into  the  street, 
with  no  ornament  except  the  placards  announcing 
a  coming  doom.  As  their  chief  support  came  from 
McCabe,  the  pastors  reflected  views  of  their  bene- 
factor as  expressed  from  time  to  time  in  the 
Neivs. 

This  worthy  sheet  was  not  without  spasms  of 
reform  in  one  of  which  it  intimated  that  the  silk 
mills  might  improve.  The  next  day  the  Strauss 
limousine  stopped  before  the  office,  its  occupant 
entering  behind  a  40-cent  cigar.  The  interview 
was  short  and  to  the  point.  ' '  What  did  the  News 
mean  by  attacking  business?"  If  there  is  any- 
thing a  Pennsylvania  editor  dislikes  it  is  the 
charge  of  interfering  with  business.     The  next 


226  MUD  HOLLOW 

morning  the  McCabe  statistics  were  again  quoted 
followed  by  an  article  on  the  tariff. 

McCabe  was  the  only  one  who  could  make  Quay 
stand  around.  So  said  Ms  friends  and  so  said 
the  News.  ''Pennsylvania  morality  is  safe  so 
long  as  he  is  at  Harrisburg. ' '  Nor  was  he  without 
lofty  ideals.  Driving  his  family  thereto,  he  be- 
came thus  the  terror  of  the  five  imported  daugh- 
ters-in-law who  had  to  live  as  he  prescribed.  The 
McCabe  fortune  had  its  attractions  but  it  was  a 
sad  illusion  so  long  as  the  purse-strings  were 
tightly  grasped.  Josephine,  the  third  in  birth  rank, 
expressed  the  unanimous  view  when  she  said  that 
the  only  thing  good  in  Pennsylvania  was  the  train 
to  New  York.  More  Pullman  seats  were  sold  in 
Huddleton  than  any  other  town  except  Pittsburgh. 
Huddleton  would  not  be  endurable  without  New 
York  nor  for  that  matter  could  New  York  exist 
without  Huddleton  and  Pittsburgh,  whose  mag- 
nates cramp  and  starve  their  neighbors  all  the 
year  that  they  may  pass  a  few  wild  nights  on 
Broadway. 

The  glow  of  Fifth  Avenue  is  but  the  reflection 
of  a  distant  hell  into  which  unwilling  victims  are 
cast.  Some  resource  is  misused,  some  town  de- 
graded, to  create  the  flow  of  funds  on  which  our 
magnates  thrive.  From  Pennsylvania,  rich  in 
resource,  trains  go  loaded  and  come  back  empty. 
For  the  better  half  no  return  is  made  except  in 
literary  tomes  designed  to  convince  the  recipients 
that  exploitation  is  not  robbery.  McCabe  is  justi- 
fied. But  nature  revolts !  Never  does  rising  sun 
see  children  yanked  from  bed  to  increase  the  great 
Strauss  dividends,  nor  the  veteran  cripples  of  the 
steel  mill  tramping  in  their  beggar  garb,  but  that 
it  shrivels,  reddens  and  would  strike  but  for  the 
sight  of  happier  regions  beyond.  Pennsylvania 
slumbers  but  humanity  rankles  at  the  sight. 


PART  II 


MUD  HOLLOW 

Its  Life  Interpreted 

We  are  not  what  nature  makes  us,  hut  what 
we  make  ourselves.  Not  deeds  but  character  is 
the  measure  of  an  age. 


1. 

The  Apology 

When  a  man  who  has  spent  his  life  in  one  field 
enters  another  he  offers  an  apology  for  the  in- 
trusion. Stories  and  theories  have  been  isolated 
by  rigid  law.  Why  face  the  criticism  their  blend- 
ing involves?  Too  often  professors  get  their 
theories  from  books,  yet  occasionally,  like  the 
much-praised  work  of  Darwin,  theories  are  not 
antecedent  to  facts  but  a  consequence  of  them. 

My  world  is  as  different  from  that  in  which 
I  was  reared  as  the  England  of  Darwin  was  from 
the  tropics.  The  group  in  which  I  was  born  was 
the  most  rigid  religious  body  Scotland  has  pro- 
duced. For  centuries  its  members  maintained 
their  isolation,  never  intermarrying  with  neigh- 
bors. I  was  also  reared  in  a  Western  village 
where  every  one  thought  the  same  thoughts,  ate 
the  same  pie  and  used  the  same  tools.  A  mere 
accident  gave  me  a  German  education;  a  second 
brought  me  to  Philadelphia ;  a  residence  in  Scot- 
land gave  contact  with  my  family  origins.  This 
is  not  a  trip  to  South  Seas  but  its  effect  is  fully 
as  marked. 

Some  new  basis  for  opinion  must  be  found  even 
if  it  opens  the  charge  of  theorizing.  The  World 
War  is  in  part  the  cause  of  this.  Who  has  not 
seen  idols  fall  and  who  has  not  found  that  noble 
schemes  rested  on  soft  banks  of  clay?  But  while 
war  cleared  the  decks,  causes  lie  deeper.  The 
wreckage  would  have  happened  even  though  de- 
layed or  brought  about  by  other  events.  Mankind 
for  ages  has  accepted  certain  principles  which 
when  put  to  the  test  have  failed.  Were  these 
failures  the  result  of  inexperience  they  might  be 
excused — but  the  war  was  handled  by  experts  in 

229 


230  MUD  HOLLOW 

each  of  its  several  lines.  Financiers  controlled 
war  expenditures  and  yet  they  were  worse  man- 
aged than  in  previous  wars.  Diplomats  who  con- 
trolled war  policies  were  those  trained  to  their  job 
yet  lamentable  were  the  results.  Our  political 
principles  were  tried  only  to  show  how  they  fell 
short  of  meeting  the  situation.  A  group  of  stock- 
yard butchers  might  have  had  less  regard  for 
human  life  than  the  generals  but  would  have  made 
no  more  mistakes.  Have  poets,  orators,  editors 
come  out  any  better?  There  are  few  instances  in 
which  their  record  rises  above  world  diplomats, 
financiers  and  generals. 

After  such  a  display  the  first  thought  is  that  of 
world  degeneration  and  to  it  many  resort  for  an 
explanation.  But  when  one  looks  about  he  sees 
no  evidence  of  tliis.  Men  live  longer,  are  more 
active,  have  better  blood,  and  stronger  muscles 
than  their  forbears.  The  decay  is  not  physical; 
it  is  mental,  spiritual,  logical.  It  is  those  who 
think  or  at  least  should  think  who  have  failed. 
There  is  something  wrong  in  the  basis  of  our 
thought:  our  premises,  our  historical  interpreta- 
tions, our  long-standing  traditions  need  revision. 

It  is  this  of  which  many  are  becoming  conscious 
and  to  which  the  jar  of  the  War  has  made  im- 
portant contribution.  Before,  we  all  thought  the 
world  was  nearing  the  end  of  a  splendid  epoch. 
A  few  finishing  touches  and  the  edifice  would  be 
complete.  Reformers  had  definite  plans  for  reach- 
ing Paradise  and  a  rigid  logic  to  su^jport  their 
claims.  All  these  have  been  smashed  by  the  frost 
of  reality.  Everywhere  men  are  retracing  their 
steps,  searching  for  deeper  foundations  on  which 
to  build.  This  change  affects  bold  thinkers  even 
more  than  the  conservative.  Socialism,  anarchy, 
revolution  have  gone  to  pieces  along  with  the  rest. 
Their  rocks  have  proved  sand-banks,  from  which 
have  risen  a  crude  search  for  new  beginnings  that 


THE  APOLOGY  231 

lands  the  searcher  in  strange  fields.  A  friend  who 
rotted  in  jail  because  of  convictiens  is  now  en- 
gaged in  revising  the  Golden  Rule.  A  second, 
the  hero  of  ten  jail  exploits,  astonished  his  friends 
by  asking  for  a  Bible.  A  third  jailbird  of  glorious 
plumage  is  now  the  occupant  of  an  orthodox  pul- 
pit. It  amuses  at  first  to  see  a  friend  who  preached 
revolution  in  times  past  now  wanting  listeners 
to  love  poems.  It  is  not  that  the  poetry  is  good 
or  bad — but  the  going  back  to  first  principles  and 
getting  an  outlet  for  emotion  in  new  channels 
which  deserves  attention!  We  are  all  doing  this 
and  when  we  do,  crossing  conventional  lines,  we 
astonish  our  friends  by  showing  interests  of  which 
they  were  unaware. 

My  thought  movement  has  not  been  different 
from  others ;  but  my  disillusions  are  different  be- 
cause the  rocks  in  which  I  had  confidence  w^ere 
not  in  the  same  strata.  What  was  thought  to  be 
nature  has  proved  to  be  mere  complexes  made 
general  by  the  peculiarities  of  past  civilization. 
Human  nature  is  vaguer,  more  emotional,  with 
fewer  of  the  rock  attributes  than  was  thought. 

Good  men  carry  a  load  of  goodness  which  bars 
their  advance.  Give  a  boy  this  load  and  see  him 
struggle  to  free  himself.  Free  a  girl  from  an- 
cestral clamps,  let  her  mount  the  ladder  which 
leads  to  freedom;  then  picture  her  disillusion  as, 
facing  the  world,  she  finds  her  heroes  have  toes 
of  clay.  This  is  a  plot  to  express  which  forces 
me  into  a  new  field.  If  all  have  gone  back  to  a 
firmer  basis,  each  new  start  will  break  some  con- 
vention, shock  observers  and  reveal  the  iconoclast 
in  a  light  astonishing  both  to  himself  and  friends. 
We  must  all  sink  or  learn  to  swim  in  new  world 
currents. 

Both  novelists  and  educators  make  use  of  Rous- 
seau's slogans.  *'Back  to  nature,"  they  cry,  but 
the  return  of  the  novelist  is  a  return  to  the  primi- 


232  MUD  HOLLOW 

tive  way  of  viewing  nature.  He  describes  the 
cloud,  the  storm,  the  sunset,  the  mountain,  the  hill 
and  the  valley,  and  assumes  that  human  action  re- 
sponds to  these  wonders. 

By  ''nature,"  however,  disciples  of  Rousseau 
mean  the  contacts  with  external  objects  which 
evoke  our  instinctive  responses.  It  is  what  we 
touch,  the  obstacles  we  encounter.  There  is 
thus  a  thing  w^orld  and  a  wonder  world.  The 
thing  world  is  the  source  of  our  mechanical  re- 
actions; the  wonder  world  revives  our  primitive 
emotions.  They  create  the  problem  Rousseau 
sought  to  solve.  Isolating  them  creates  the  novel, 
and  modern  educational  theory.  The  wonder 
scheme  of  the  novelist  is  false  as  an  interpretation 
of  life.  Equally  so  is  the  mechanical  control 
through  material  contacts. 

While  in  scope  I  agree  with  Rousseau,  his  first 
sentence  illustrates  our  difference.  ''Everything 
in  nature  is  good;  everything  degenerates  in  the 
hands  of  man."  It  would  be  a  useless  task  to 
follow  Rousseau's  proof.  The  problem  is  there 
today  as  in  the  past,  but  the  advance  of  science 
permits  a  statement  more  exact.  The  theologians 
taught  that  man  was  depraved.  Rousseau 
asserted  that  man  was  perfect.  While  Rousseau 
and  the  theologian  differ  as  to  the  source  of  de- 
pravity, both  accept  the  fact.  ' '  Depravity, ' '  says 
Rousseau,  "is  the  result  of  man's  interference 
with  nature. "  This  gives  a  new  source  of  deprav- 
ity but  does  not  alter  its  nature,  no  more  the 
means  of  preventing  it.  Rousseau's  morality  is 
as  Hebrew  as  that  of  the  theologians.  He,  like 
them,  emphasizes  sacrifice,  humility,  duty  and 
other  conventional  virtues.  There  is  as  much 
repression  in  submitting  to  the  dictates  of  nature 
as  in  accepting  those  of  the  Hebrew  prophets. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  the  thought  of  today 
clashes  with  both  these  views.    The  issue  is  not 


THE  APOLOGY  233 

how  men  became  depraved,  but  whether  or  no 
they  are  degenerate.  Depravity  is  the  lack  of 
character;  degeneration  is  its  loss.  The  issue 
again  is  not  whether  depravity  is  visible  in  each 
age,  but  whether  the  depravity  of  an  age  has  an 
influence  on  succeeding  ages.  Can  men  inherit  de- 
pravity as  they  do  brain  and  muscle?  or  is  it  mere- 
ly a  temporary  effect  which  heredity  fails  to  pass 
along?  Do  the  sins  of  the  parents  fall  on  the 
children  of  the  third  and  fourth  generation,  or  is 
the  sin  as  dead  as  the  sinner? 

My  answer  questions  these  intellectual  dogmas. 
Men  are  safeguarded  from  sin  not  by  imposed 
personal  restraints,  nor  by  artificially  created  vir- 
tues— ^but  by  the  removal  of  the  antecedents  of 
sin.  Depravity  is  not  man-made  nor  God-made, 
but  the  measure  of  defective  adjustment.  Every 
improvement  altering  the  relation  of  men  to  their 
viron  frees  succeeding  generations  of  some  an- 
cestral depravity. 

In  stating  this  doctrine  there  is  a  shift  of  view 
and  evidence  of  which  the  reader  should  become 
aware.  In  the  past,  evidence  for  and  against  evo- 
lution was  biologic.  The  problem  today,  however, 
is  not  of  slow  or  fast  evolution,  but  whether  or 
no,  during  the  historic  epoch,  there  has  been  an 
actual  race  degeneration.  In  this  new  contro- 
versy the  orthodox  biologists  are  almost  to  a  man 
on  the  side  of  degeneration.  It  should  be 
noticed,  however,  that  the  evidence  educed  is  not 
biologic,  but  physical,  of  which,  to  say  the  least, 
biologists  are  no  better  judges  than  are  their  op- 
ponents. If  the  second  law  of  thermo  djmamics 
proves  that  the  sun  is  losing  heat,  life  must  de- 
generate, but  this  ultimate  fact  does  not  prove 
that  the  loss  of  sun  heat  is  the  source  of  the  as- 
sumed decline  of  historic  civilization.  The  evi- 
dence for  this  must  bring  the  controversy  into  a 
field  foreign  to  biologic  thought. 


234  MUD  HOLLOW 

The  decline  of  civilization  so  often  repeated  in 
human  history  has  been  due  to  a  shift  in  domi- 
nance from  a  sensory  to  a  motor  type.  The  sen- 
sory minded  fail  and  their  civilization  has  broken 
in  every  age  and  region  when  for  survival  think- 
ing becomes  more  important  than  seeing.  The 
interim  is  that  in  which  advanced  nations  suffer, 
*  and  on  which  the  evidence  for  degeneration  de- 
pends. 

/  Two  points  I  shall  try  to  make  clear.  What,  in 
/physical  terms,  is  the  measure  of  the  change  from 
/  sensory  to  motor  activity ;  secondly,  what  is  the 
change  in  thought  and  morality  which  separates 
the  new  groups  from  their  forebears.  The 
opinion  of  biologists  and  historians  on  these 
points  might  be  compared  to  the  opinion  of  the 
last  sabre-toothed  tiger  as  he  saw  a  monkey  chat- 
tering in  a  tree.  Could  he  be  expected  to  believe 
that  life  was  advancing?  It  is  only  when  the  sur- 
vivors look  at  the  bones  of  their  ancestors  that 
the  reality  of  evolution  becomes  plain.  The  men 
controlling  national  affairs  during  and  since  the 
AVorld  War  are  as  well  fitted  for  their  task  as  the 
tiger  was  to  throw  a  stone.  Not  they  but  their 
successors  will  glimpse  the  world  to  be  and  bring 
mankind  into  it. 


The  Surviving  Element 

Survival  today  is  not  different  in  its  essence 
from  what  it  was  when  the  five-toed  horse  roamed 
the  prairie.  Elimination  is  still  at  work.  The 
crop  of  unfortunates  grows.  Where  are  the  forces 
which  eliminate? 

Our  ancestors  were  comrades  of  the  monkey, 
who  in  their  evolution  represent  a  turning-point 
in  evolution.    The  dominant  response  up  to  this 


THE  SURVIVING  ELEMENT  235 

time  was  that  of  anger.  The  insect  stung,  the 
ram  bunted,  the  dog  bit ;  the  monkey  ran.  There 
is  thus  a  change  from  an  anger  response  to  that 
of  fear,  to  explain  which  is  to  get  the  key  to  human 
evolution. 

Another  way  to  measure  the  contrast  is  to  show 
that  the  reactions  of  older  organisms  w^ere  indi- 
vidual. Each  animal  carried  in  himself  the 
mechanisms  on  which  survival  depended.  There 
were  no  other  means  of  transmitting  traits  except 
by  heritable,  nervous  mechanisms.  The  insect  and 
the  mammal  were  thus  a  bundle  of  complex  nerv- 
ous adjustments  which  gave  the  proper  response 
to  given  conditions,  but  which  became  hindrances 
under  altered  circumstance. 

These  animals  represent  the  acme  of  the  de- 
velopment of  inherited  traits.  The  monkey,  domi- 
nated by  fear,  imitated,  remembered,  associated, 
gained  the  concept  of  antecedent  and  consequent, 
and  was  thus  able  to  profit  by  experience.  Each 
of  these  shows  the  nature  of  the  alteration.  Ac- 
quired traits  were  substituted  for  those  which  are 
transmitted.  If  an  animal  imitates  it  does  what 
it  sees  done,  not  what  its  inherited  responses 
demand.  If  pain  is  anticipated  by  fear,  some 
acquired  pattern  displaces  inherited  responses. 

In  the  monkey  as  in  man  there  is  a  conflict  be^ 
tween  acquired  and  natural  responses.  Natural 
traits,  becoming  hindrances,  have  degenerated; 
even  if  men  respond  to  objective  stimuli  the  re- 
sponse is  less  effective  than  formerly.  The  first 
problem  therefore  in  human  heredity  is  not,  how 
can  natural  traits  be  acquired?  but  what  are  the 
forms  in  which  the  decay  of  natural  traits  mani- 
fest themselves? 

The  struggle  of  the  normal  middle  class  with 
the  subnormal  below  and  the  supernormal  above 
represents  the  two  kinds  of  survival  already  out- 
lined.   Between  the  normal  and  the  subnormal  the 


236  MUD  HOLLOW 

contest  is  of  two  kinds  of  heredity.  Between  the 
normal  and  supernormal  the  struggle  is  between 
two  types  of  culture.  Natural  traits  determine 
survival  in  one  case;  acquired  traits  dominate  in 
the  other.  Li  the  one  struggle  there  is  a  loss  of 
animal  responses ;  in  the  other  there  is  a  resistance 
to  the  modification  of  acquired  judgments.  The 
normal  middle  class  thus  promote  physical  de- 
generation and  oppose  changes  which  increase  ad- 
justment. They  crush  those  whose  natural  in- 
stincts are  strong ;  they  crucify  the  innovator  who 
offers  new  forms  of  action. 

The  obstacles  to  progress  and  to  degeneration 
are  thus  more  severe  than  is  usually  assumed. 
The  surviving  middle  class  alter  their  acquired 
traits  but  slowly.  On  the  other  hand  physical 
degeneration  is  equally  difficult.  Each  new  age 
starts  with  the  same  physical  heredity  as  its  fore- 
bears and  will  be  normal  to  their  situation  except 
as  it  is  degraded  by  some  new  form  of  dissipation. 
The  germ  cells  of  the  delinquent  are  not  affected 
by  his  errors.  Social  degeneration  merely  affects 
persons  or  classes.  While  always  present,  it  is 
a  class  eliminator,  not  a  race  degenerator.  The 
middle  class,  ruled  by  its  codes,  rigid  in  its  tradi- 
tions, goes  its  beaten  path  uninfluenced  by  the  de- 
generation of  its  social  superiors.  Despite  the 
moans  of  moralists  and  the  predictions  of  scien- 
tists there  is  little  evidence  of  any  modification 
in  normal  life  except  those  slow  alterations  to 
which  our  heredity  is  subject. 

What  we  do  gets  its  value  not  in  terms  of  well 
being  but  in  the  way  our  children  act.  The  wise 
and  the  simple  get  jumbled  together,  neither  being 
better  nor  worse  except  as  measured  in  the  children 
who  take  their  place.  Here  is  a  woman  who  re- 
fuses to  bear  children;  there  is  a  family  who 
cramp  their  offspring  by  false  standards;  yonder 
is  a  man  who  refused  to  marry ;  on  the  next  street 


THE  SURVIVING  ELEMENT         237 

is  one  who  denies  no  selfish  wish.  All  these  people 
go  to  their  graves  without  influence  on  the  morrow 
of  the  race. 

Heredity  is  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  conflicting 
tendencies,  some  of  which  are  recessive.  A  change 
in  the  viron  does  not  create  new  characters;  it 
merely  alters  the  dominance  of  those  already  in 
existence.  Vironal  pressure  can  eliminate  no 
type,  but  it  can  reduce  numbers  until  the  type  has 
little  influence  on  the  community.  Any  type,  how- 
ever small,  could  rapidly  repopulate  the  world  if 
not  distanced  in  the  struggle  of  existence.  A  new 
viron  can,  therefore,  readily  find  types  which  har- 
monize with  its  demands  and  bring  them  to  the 
front. 

There  is  clear  evidence  as  to  the  characteristics 
of  this  type.  The  distinction  hinges  on  the  differ- 
ence between  sensory  and  motor  traits.  Some 
people  are  capable  of  making  acute  sensory  con- 
trasts. Such  men,  dominant  in  primitive  times, 
are  favored  in  survival  so  long  as  the  viron  is 
local.  Color,  sound,  taste  and  smell  are  im- 
portant when  the  seen  conditions  welfare.  A 
man  with  dull  senses  and  slow  perception  could 
hardly  have  survived  in  the  primitive  world. 
Elimination  in  its  many  sensory  forms  would  ex- 
terminate him.  But  when  the  conditions  of  sur- 
vival are  beyond  the  hills,  in  China  or  South 
America  instead  of  being  in  the  neighborhood, 
the  traditions  of  the  race  must  be  revised.  Move- 
ment is  more  important  than  sense.  Only  he  who 
thinks  not  of  traditional  dangers  and  whose  values 
are  neither  ancestral  nor  personal  is  on  the  road 
to  adjustment. 
^  When  a  district  is  settled  the  rush  brings  dis- 
similar elements  with  diverse  tastes  and  men- 
tal traits.  At  this  time  the  region  is  full  of 
"characters,"  odd  sticks,  cranks,  failures  and 
people    who    have   been   up    against    everything 


238  MUD  HOLLOW 

everywhere.  "When  land  rises  to  fifty  dollars  an 
acre  a  weeding  process  begins.  The  weaklings 
move  to  cheap  laud.  Men  working  in  the  same 
way,  living  the  same  sort  of  lives,  acquire  a  sim- 
ilar mode  of  thought.  Each  succeeding  rise  in 
the  price  of  land,  sharpening  this  process,  drives 
out  all  above  and  below  the  standard  set  by  pre- 
vailing conditions.  Pressure  thus  creates  three 
classes:  the  unsuccessful,  the  successful,  and  the 
supersuccessful.  Both  the  first  and  the  third  class 
move  cityward.  Every  village  has  its  youth  who 
have  made  a  mark.  It  is  only  the  successful  that 
demand  consideration,  for  they  alone  determine 
home  conditions. 

Before  the  introduction  of  harvesters  the  farm 
work  fell  within  four  months.  The  rest  was  really 
spare  time  in  which  the  population  could  enjoy 
themselves.  Machinery  cut  down  the  need  of 
surplus  population  in  the  summer  months,  and 
extended  the  period  of  work  to  six,  eight  and 
finally  to  twelve  months.  The  new  agriculture 
has  inclreased  the  product  fourfold,  while  the 
workers  needed  for  each  specific  task  are  reduced 
to  a  quarter  of  their  former  number. 

Most  people  cannot  stand  twelve  hours  of  work 
for  the  w^hole  year  even  if  they  could  work  six- 
teen hours  a  day  for  four  months.  Women  are 
especial  sufferers.  It  is  one  thing  to  live  with  a 
man  who  takes  a  couple  days  off  a  week,  and  is 
free  all  winter  for  sleigh  rides,  spelling  bees,  and 
rural  sports;  and  quite  another  to  cook,  make 
beds,  and  wash  clothes  all  the  year  around  for 
tired  men  whose  thought  is  as  rigid  and  mechan- 
ical as  is  their  daily  occupation. 

The  corresponding  town  character  is  the  hust- 
ler. He  is  thick-built,  square-jawed,  with  a  quick 
electric  step.  His  forehead  is  sloping  and  its 
crown  flat.  He  shakes  hands  with  a  grasp  which 
makes  one  scream.    He  can  eat  anything,  endure 


THE  SURVIVING  ELEMENT  239 

anything,  and  has  a  contempt  for  those  who  can't 
stand  a  sixteen-hour  day  grind  all  the  year.  It 
would  really  be  a  virtue  if  he  lied  when  he  said 
he  had  not  had  a  vacation  for  twenty  years;  he 
would  sympathize  with  those  who  need  it.  As  it 
is,  he  converts  his  subordinates  to  draft  cattle, 
who  drag  themselves  wearily  home  and  are  thank- 
ful for  Sunday  to  rest.  The  hustler  thus  destroys 
the  joy  of  the  town.  The  movies  can  thrive,  base- 
ball stir  local  interest,  but  to  the  sensory  minded 
the  place  becomes  a  dreary  waste  from  which  the 
only  escape  is  absence.  The  mind  of  this  hustler 
is  essentially  commonplace.  Everything  new  irri- 
tates him.  Strictly  orthodox,  he  votes  the  straight 
ticket  and  denounces  the  reformers  who  interfere 
with  business.  He  belongs  to  a  half-dozen  lodges, 
likes  their  feeds  and  any  rough  amusement  that 
has  some  ''go"  in  it.  His  opinions  are  dogmatic 
and  his  logic  incontrovertible.  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  can  change  him — a  full-page  advertise- 
ment. This  indicates  to  him  a  going  concern,  and 
whatever  goes  he  goes  with. 

With  these  conditions  in  the  background  the  life 
of  the  town  can  be  readily  pictured.  There  is  an 
upward  movement  that  cuts  out  all  below  the 
static  level  and  works  a  repression  on  all  above. 
The  standardized  succeed;  the  unstandardized 
leave  town  or  drop  into  unmarked  graves.  From 
year  to  year  no  change  is  perceptible,  but  each 
generation — first,  second  or  third,  moving  on  a 
bit  beyond  its  predecessor — ^becomes  more  rigid 
in  its  standards. 

In  the  prosperous  sections  of  the  land  a  rigid 
sameness  prevails — not  a  low  standard  nor  a  high 
standard,  but  a  medium  standard  which  represses 
both  the  high  and  the  low.  People  are  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  their  neighbors.  What  one 
does  the  others  do.  What  one  thinks  the  others 
think.     They  eat  the  same  pie,  drink  the  same 


240  MUD  HOLLOW 

coffee,  and  enjoy  the  same  ice  cream.  They  wear 
clothes  cut  from  the  same  bolt  and  ride  in  the 
same  sort  of  automobile.  The  girls  look  like 
twins,  wearing  the  same  hats,  puihng  their  hair 
in  the  same  way,  having  the  same  high  school  gait, 
and  chewing  the  same  brand  of  gum,  at  least  until 
the  Ladies'  Journal  told  them  not  to. 

All  our  social  life  is  being  reorganized  to  meet 
these  conditions.  Communities  are  no  longer 
Democrats  and  Eepublicans,  Protestant  and  Cath- 
olic, or  even  moral  and  immoral.  They  are  merely 
conformists  or  non-conformists,  Morality,  art, 
taste  or  culture  creates  no  bar  against  ostracism 
if  deviation  is  made  from  the  straight  path  of 

/  conformity.  Do  as  your  neighbors  do  creates 
safety ;  no  virtue  will  ward  off  the  angry  onslaught 

,  which  nonconformity  provokes. 

*  In  a  frontier  town  the  first  external  repression 
comes  from  the  normal  school.  Girls  going  thence 
return  rigidly  typed  by  the  grind  to  which  they 
submit.  They  are  fierce  on  spelling,  pronuncia- 
tion and  all  the  foibles  which  a  year's  schooling 
can  impress.  Assuming  an  air  of  superiority, 
they  start  a  conflict  with  local  traditions  which 
ends  only  when  the  schools  establish  a  rigid  cen- 
sorship over  manners  and  speech.  Then  comes 
the  influence  of  the  returning  college  students 
drilled  in  classic  thought.  A  far-off,  dead  world 
is  imposed  on  the  partly  living  present.  The  old 
Methodist  minister,  who  saved  the  West  by  his 
heroic  activity,  was  a  six-footer  who  on  arriving 
carried  his  furniture  on  his  back  from  depot  to 
house.  He  had  seen  life,  knew  the  world,  even  if 
his  accents  were  wrong.  His  successor  is  a  con- 
ventionalized easy-body  whose  ideas  were  ob- 
tained from  standard  courses  in  dimly  lighted 
halls.  He  knows  just  what  everybody  knows, 
which  means  he  knows  nothing  but  what  can  be 
found  in  an  encyclopedia.    His  old-fashioned  pre- 


THE  SURVIVING  ELEMENT  241 

decessor  had  been  converted.  He  knew  what  it 
was  to  sin,  by  sad  experience.  The  successor  is 
merely  drilled,  labeled  and  beaten  into  shape  by. 
forces  against  w^hich  he  had  not  sufficient  energy 
to  rebel.  He  is  therefore  a  censor  not  a  leader, 
and  distances  even  the  school  teacher  in  his  oppo- 
sition to  any  break  in  the  local  code.  What  hap- 
pens here  happens  also  to  the  lawyer  and  the 
doctor.  They  have  imported  codes  and  prejudices 
to  enforce.  One  lawyer's  opinions  are  exactly  like 
the  others'  and  together  they  impose  a  mode  of 
thought  on  the  community  which  bars  intellectual 
growth. 

Such  men  are  slow  of  thought,  stubborn  in  deci- 
sion; hard  to  convince  by  logical  processes;  me- 
chanical in  action  yet  at  the  same  time  vividly 
imaginative,  strongly  emotional.  They  are  effec- 
tive in  industry  while  stubbornly  reactionary  in 
their  social  relations.  The  term  "stand-patter" 
is  an  apt  description  of  their  attitude.  The  old 
church,  the  same  pew,  the  rigid  dogma,  the  inher- 
ited political  party  with  its  antiquated  platforms, 
the  patriarchal  form  of  family  and  a  patronizing 
attitude  in  all  their  dealings  with  subordinates — 
these  and  many  other  similar  traits  show  them- 
selves only  too  plainly.  The  crudely  effective  dis- 
places the  artistic,  the  old  morality  represses  na- 
tive impulses;  the  industrially  antiquated  is  not 
replaced  by  co-operative  methods  nor  are  women 
transformed  from  physical  playthings  into  busi- 
ness partners  and  social  comrades.  Rational 
methods  are  ignored,  statistics  are  smiled  at,  free- 
dom is  repressed  and  originality  crushed — not 
from  any  inherent  opposition  but  because  they 
interfere  with  habit,  custom  and  comfortable  tra- 
dition. 

These  facts  are  not  stated  to  emphasize  them 
but  to  prepare  a  way  for  the  study  of  the  forces 
v/hich  oppose.     Over  against   the   suppressions 


242  MUD  HOLLOW 

from  without  must  be  put  the  emotional  outbursts 
from  within.  Men  dream  instead  of  think,  they 
make  their  own  mental  world  instead  of  passively 
accepting  what  the  senses  offer.  Just  as  man 
conquers  nature,  just  as  square  fields  and  straight 
rows  of  corn  reflect  his  superiority,  just  as  har- 
vests become  plentiful  and  the  granaries  are  full, 
just  as  the  material  seems  to  have  all  in  its  grasp, 
just  then  our  inner  impulse  breaks  its  bounds, 
sends  a  thrill  through  every  nerve,  colors  every 
blood  cell  and  changes  the  current  of  thought  from 
the  seen  and  felt  to  the  vast,  dimly  lighted  regions 
where  fancy  knows  no  law.  The  goal  is  self- 
expression,  self-determination  and  self-mastery, 
not  unattainable  piety  nor  the  glitter  of  another 
world ;  but  a  transformed  world  makes  the  vivid 
appeal.  Such  men  are  no  longer  Hebrew  or  Puri- 
tan ;  through  their  aspiration  they  create  the  urges 
on  which  the  Americanization  of  America  depends. 
Many  forms  of  vague,  insistent  idealism  are 
making  their  force  felt.  The  recent  war  has 
shown  how  docile  is  the  American  public  but  it  is 
also  showing  that  a  new  type  of  idealism  is  com- 
ing into  vogue.  Which  of  the  two  tendencies  will 
dominate  in  the  immediate  future  it  is  too  early 
to  say;  but  that  habit,  tradition  and  convention 
have  met  a  new  antagonist  is  not  open  to  doubt. 
The  real  force  of  the  social  lies  not  in  trade  unions, 
industrial  co-operation  and  distributive  processes, 
but  in  a  vague  feeling  of  comradeship  which  binds 
not  like  with  like,  but  which  brings  the  dissimilar 
into  organic  unity.  The  motor  is  blind  to  the  dif- 
ferences which  keep  races,  classes  and  sexes 
apart.  We  lost  our  sense  of  color  and  discrimina- 
tion with  the  decay  of  sense  vividness  but  with 
them  go  our  hates,  our  antagonisms  and  also  our 
logical  stubbornness.  It  is  these  that  keep  us  un- 
social, and  not  anything  in  heredity.  Motor  men 
are    passive    agents.      They    will    do    nothing 


SENSE  DULLNESS  243 

to  break  the  crust  which  binds  us  to  the  past. 
Psychic  and  vironal  changes  are  working  in  the 
right  direction.  We  thwart  them  by  our  ignor- 
ance and  thus  keep  active  the  very  forces  our 
good  intentions  would  repress. 


Sense  Dullness 

The  differences  of  the  sensory  and  motor  types 
are  measured  in  three  ways,  their  bodies,  their 
faces  and  their  mental  power.  Men  of  the  motor 
type  are  of  medium  height,  have  broad  shoulders, 
sound  hearts,  are  deep-voiced,  with  a  slow-time 
reaction  and  a  low  blood  pressure.  Their  faces 
are  round,  their  chins  square  and  their  foreheads 
sloping.  Put  a  dozen  in  a  row,  compare  them 
with  those  of  the  sensory  type,  and  their  super- 
iority is  evident.  "What  magnificent  animals," 
the  observer  is  likely  to  say.  But  this  praise 
needs  a  qualification  when  their  mental  power  is 
compared  with  the  opposing  type.  They  have 
little  sense  discrimination ;  their  individual  judg- 
ment is  poor.  They  are  impulsive,  fickle  and  imi- 
tative. These  traits  give  to  the  sensory  minded 
their  claim  of  superiority  and  create  the  basis  of 
the  charge  that  the  dominance  of  the  motor  type 
is  a  mark  of  degeneration.  There  is  little  danger 
of  the  motor-minded  disappearing.  Their  physi- 
cal superiority  is  evident.  Their  falls  into  dissi- 
pation are  frequent  but  of  a  character  that  has 
little  effect  on  subsequent  generations.  Of  seven 
children  in  a  family,  it  is  not  the  four  who  die, 
but  the  three  that  leave  offspring  who  count.  Dis- 
sipation is  not  a  source  of  race  decline ;  the  effect 
is  race  progress  through  the  elimination  of  the 
unfit.    The  charge  of  degeneration  is  more  fitting 


244  MUD  HOLLOW 

when  not  the  physical  traits  but  the  type  of  civil- 
ization is  under  consideration.  Much  of  what  we 
cherish  as  high  is  sensory,  and  depends  not  on 
physical  powers  which  are  heritable  but  on  ac- 
quired complexes  which  fade  or  glow  with  sense 
acuteness. 

The  evidence  on  this  point  is  indirect  yet  posi- 
tive enough  to  have  weight.  Physical  growth  is 
mainly  muscular  with  which  is  correllated  the 
growth  of  bone.  The  motor  type  has  therefore 
prominent  bones;  as  bones  are  post-natal  in 
development,  every  irregularity  in  growth  is  re- 
flected in  some  irregularity  of  bone  development. 
If  the  growth  of  bone  is  retarded  the  face  and 
body  are  covered  with  soft  and  well-proportioned 
flesh.  In  this  case  we  talk  of  Greek  forms  and 
Madonna  faces.  Were  the  loss  of  beauty  the  only 
effect  motor  growth  might  be  condoned,  but  its 
irregularities  distort  the  features.  The  eyes  are 
seldom  on  a  level;  one  socket  is  larger  than  the 
other ;  one  side  of  the  face  grows  faster  than  the 
other;  the  hands  have  different  powers.^  Motor 
growth  is  asymmetrical.  Every  organ  is  some- 
what distorted  and  often  displaced. 

These  tendencies  create  force  but  they  inter- 
fere with  exactness.  The  muscles  of  the  eye  are 
attached  to  neighboring  bones.  If  these  are  not 
regular,  eye-strains  result,  creating  astigmatism 
and  other  evils  of  eye  adjustment.  The  growth  of 
bone,  broadening  the  face,  pulls  the  eyes  apart. 
This  increases  the  powers  of  vision  to  apprehend 
distant  scenes  but  reduces  the  vividness  of  close 
vision.  Big  differences  are  thus  readily  observed, 
but  the  finer  differences  of  color  and  form  are 
rendered  indistinct. 

Lincoln  is  an  excellent  example  of  face  distor- 
tion due  to  the  irregularity  of  muscle  and  bone. 
No  two  of  his  organs  which  should  be  symmetrical 
had  the  same  growth.    His  body  as  well  as  his  face 


SENSE  DULLNESS  245 

showed  marked  irregularities,  each  of  which  must 
have  had  effects  on  his  physical  behavior.  No  one 
would  think  of  him  as  a  Greek  model;  still  less 
could  any  one  call  him  a  degenerate.  He  had 
decision  and  this  sufficed  to  give  him  a  place  in 
history.  In  a  recent  prize-fight,  all  the  features 
of  the  one  were  in  right  proportion.  Every  one 
admired  and  shouted  for  his  success.  His  oppon- 
ent was  described  as  a  plug-ugly,  which  perhaps 
sets  off  the  difference  as  well  as  any  term.  Yet 
the  Greek  fell  under  his  blows.  Crudely  formed 
bones  and  unbalanced  parts  indicate  a  vigor  Greek 
athletes  do  not  have. 

The  sense  of  smell  is  almost  eradicated;  taste 
also  is  badly  deteriorated.  The  fine  discrimina- 
tion of  the  epicure  is  lacking  in  the  common  herd. 
They  call  for  ham  and  eggs  not  from  a  lack  of 
income  but  because  the  finer  grades  of  food  taste 
about  the  same.  Drinks  are  enjoyed  not  from 
their  flavor  but  because  they  are  hot  or  cold.  The 
typical  woman  has  no  taste  except  for  sweets, 
while  the  man  has  his  sensitiveness  degraded  by 
the  use  of  tobacco.  Jaws  are  made  inactive  by 
the  use  of  soft  foods,  which  in  turn  reduces  the 
flow  of  fluids  on  which  taste  discrimination  de- 
pends. A  club  formerly  offering  a  dozen  break- 
fasts now  finds  its  members  satisfied  with  oat- 
meal, bacon  and  coffee.  The  dinners  are  similarly 
restricted  to  a  shiftless  monotony. 

It  is  interesting  to  measure  your  companions  by 
the  way  they  handle  the  menu  card.  ''Ham  and 
eggs, ' '  says  one  without  looking.  He  is  healthy ; 
no  dark  rings  his  eyes  nor  do  nerves  twitch  his 
hand.  Ham  and  eggs  are  always  reliable  while 
the  chef's  concoctions  are  open  to  suspicion.  A 
neighbor  looks  up  and  doAvn  the  menu,  asks  a 
dozen  questions,  wonders  what  is  the  odor  of  each 
dish  and  finally  takes  one  with  a  French  name, 
hoping  blindly  that  the  unknown  will  create  less 


246  MUD  HOLLOW 

misery  than  did  yesterday 's  meal.  Count  tlie  min- 
utes he  waits  and  the  number  of  his  stomach 
troubles  stands  revealed.  For  each  new  dish 
tried,  a  new  complaint  voices  its  discontent.  Such 
are  the  differences  in  type  measured  in  terms  of 
stomach.  It  is  a  problem  of  supremacy  in  which 
the  nerves  and  the  muscles  stand  opposed.  The 
sensory  type  is  alert  to  external  facts,  drawing 
both  joys  and  fears  from  world  contacts.  Today 
nature  smiles:  joy  reigns;  tomorrow  is  dull:  de- 
pression follows. 

The  eye  yields  similar  evidence.  Glaring  light 
pleases  more  than  variety  and  shades  of  color. 
The  flashlights  on  the  streets  show  they  are  needed 
to  attract  the  dull-sensed.  The  stage  is  illuminat- 
ed by  a  brilliancy  that  obscures  all  delicate  forms. 
In  the  movies  the  light  is  so  intense  that  the  eyes 
of  the  heroine  are  her  only  visible  feature.  It  is 
impossible  to  represent  other  traits  under  such 
a  flood  of  light.  From  candle  to  lamp,  from  lamp 
to  electricity,  is  a  road  not  of  progress  but  of 
sense  degradation. 

Most  people  are  partly  deaf  by  thirty.  The 
voice  goes  up  and  down  in  a  mechanical  way  with 
no  musical  trills.  The  throat  muscles  stiffen, 
which  makes  the  voice  hoarse  or  produces  squeaky 
effects.  Words  are  pronounced  indistinctly;  the 
rhythms  of  speech  largely  lost.  People  do  not  use 
half  the  sounds  and  variations  good  speech  de- 
mands. When  they  read  they  see  about  half  of 
each  word  or  sentence  with  no  muscular  reaction 
— ^which  is  the  basis  of  literary  taste.  The  world 
is  becoming  ham,  eggs  and  sugar,  neither  very 
good  nor  bad,  yet  creating  enough  energy  to  meet 
the  exigencies  of  an  eight-hour  day.  To  bed  or  to 
a  ball  game  for  the  rest,  with  an  occasional  movie 
or  sandwich  picnic  thrown  in  for  variety. 

This  may  be  an  exaggeration,  yet  a  potent 
reality.     All  these  sense  defects  are  not  to  be 


SENSE  DULLNESS  247 

found  in  every  individual,  yet  few  are  free  from 
some  of  them.  American  teeth  have  been  ex- 
amined ;  not  one  in  a  million  is  sound.  The  army 
tests  its  recruits  only  to  find  that  three  in  four 
fall  below  the  good  level  of  manhood.  Were  all 
our  senses  tested  with  similar  care  the  same  la- 
mentable degeneration  would  manifest  itself.  Our 
growth  is  social,  intellectual,  moral — but  not  in 
the  domain  of  sense. 

Sense  discrimination  is  more  muscular  than 
nervous :  the  voice  depends  on  throat  muscles,  the 
ear  has  its  muscular  mechanism  which  is  liable 
to  many  disorders ;  the  taste  depends  on  jaw  move- 
ments which  are  reduced  by  the  muscular  degen- 
eration of  the  lower  face.  The  change  in  food,  so 
important  in  other  regards,  may  be  the  main 
cause,  through  the  degeneration  of  muscles  which 
defective  food  promotes.  Children  dieted  on  por- 
ridge, milk  and  sugar  look  finely  in  their  early 
years  but  soon  show  a  lack  of  muscular  power. 
They  become  senile  and  fail  to  go  through  the 
final  stages  of  human  evolution.  Of  porridge 
suckers  and  milk-fed  papooses  there  are  plenty. 
Doctors  gloat  over  the  number  of  infants  they 
carry  through  the  first  three  years  but  the  same 
tested  at  twenty  have  not  yet  reached  their  tenth 
mental  year.  There  is  something  wrong  in  food, 
muscles  and  nerves ;  which  are  the  worst  sinners 
experts  must  in  the  end  decide,  but  we  can  meas- 
ure their  joint  effect  on  human  types  and  on  civil- 
ization even  if  the  initial  steps  are  not  clear. 
The  dull  sensory  types  are  gaining  a  dominance 
which  threatens  cherished  institutions. 

To  hear  the  gong  of  an  auto  is  more  important 
than  the  notes  of  a  bird  or  the  cry  of  an  enemy. 
We  guard  ourselves  against  bad  food  not  by  taste 
but  by  chemical  inspection.  Differences  in  color, 
sound  and  taste  thus  lose  their  importance.  Words 
go  the  same  road;  adjectives  are  of  little  use,  as 


248  MUD  HOLLOW 

delicate  shades  of  meaning  have  lost  their  signifi- 
cance. Nouns  and  verbs  become  the  only  parts  of 
speech  and  with  the  change  goes  the  need  of  their 
declension.  Only  what  we  can  strike  or  do  has 
importance. 

The  sensory  man,  in  contrast  to  this,  loves  the 
world  as  it  is  with  all  its  variety  of  color  and 
sound,  its  mountains  and  lakes,  its  rocks  and  rills. 
Such  ideals  need  no  muscles;  there  is  little  for 
them  to  do.    Gaze  and  contemplate.    Sleep  in  the 
shade;  observe  the  moon  and  sunset.     For  him 
there  is  a  good  historical  background.    The  primi- 
tive races  were  not  producers.     Their  reactions 
counted  but  for  little.     The  external  was  vastly 
more  important  as  each  leaf,  color  or  sound  might 
mean  death  if  wrongly  interpreted.     The  enemy 
and  subtle  danger  were  always  at  hand.  ^  Only 
a  delicate  perception  and  quick  action  could  insure 
safety.    No  wonder  the  nerves  became  sensitive 
and  thought  reflected  their  condition.     Perhaps 
,the  best  picture  of  these  sense-evoking  conditions 
is  to  be  derived  from  the  trench-fighting  of  the 
last   war.     Every    instant    demanded    alertness. 
Shocks  were  every^vhere ;  noise  never  ceased.    The 
weak  of  nerves  become   subject  to   shell-shock. 
War  is  nerve,  nothing  but  nerve.     So  was  the 
primitive  Avorld.    Shock,  shock,  nothing  but  shock. 
How  could  the  dull  of  perception  survive?     AH 
this  is  altered  except  in  the  stress  of  war  or  in 
the  life  of  the  slums.     There  are  no  tigers  or 
snakes,  no  hostile  tribes,  no  hidden  foes.    Millions 
live  day  by  day,  year  by  year  and  never  face  a 
danger  which  the  sense  sluggard  could  not  avoid. 
The  stress  of  modern  life  is  on  the  muscle.    We 
succeed  by  doing  not  by  seeing.    The  duller  our 
senses,  the  stronger  our  will,  the  more  we  domi- 
nate.   The  sense-active  man,  forced  from  the  road, 
eats  others'  crumbs  and  lives  in  a  garret. 
Do  you  like  a  flower,  a  sunset  or  a  man-made 


THE  AMERICAN  BLEND  249 

product?  Would  you  go  to  an  art  gallery,  or  to 
see  a  battleship  enter  the  harbor?  Would  you 
attend  a  symphony  concert  or  seek  an  automobile 
show?  Do  you  like  motion  or  color?  A  movie  or 
an  art  gallery?  The  answer  to  all  these  is  plain 
if  the  action  of  the  multitude  is  observed.  Color, 
sound  and  words  have  but  slight  survival  value. 
The  machine  that  does  something  has  more  emo- 
tional force  than  what  is  merely  looked  at  or 
heard.  An  example  of  this  is  the  automobile,  with 
the  joy  of  control  its  manipulation  gives.  It  is 
ourselves  extended.  Nature's  coloring  is  nothing 
when  we  go  sixty  miles  an  hour.  The  horse  also 
gave  this  power  of  self-extension.  Who  does  not 
forget  the  sensory  when  he  mounts  a  prancing 
steed?  What  these  succeed  in  doing  any  machine 
may  do.  Muscle  and  nerve  have  had  their  strug- 
gle :  muscle  won. 


The  American  Blend 

History  is  made  not  by  what  happens  but  by 
what  people  wish  had  happened.  No  sooner  do 
events  take  place  than  myths  appear  transform- 
ing the  real  into  the  wished.  From  this  myth- 
making  tendency  American  thought  is  not  free. 
Despite  a  general  knowledge  of  facts  fancy  rules 
in  every  statement  of  them.  It  is  assumed  that 
our  ancestors  v/ere  Puritans  who  for  religion, 
liberty  and  lofty  ideals  sought  the  wilderness  and 
thus  shaped  the  land  in  which  we  dwell.  There 
was  a  band  of  Puritans.  The  Mayflower  did  ac- 
tually come  to  our  shores.  A  few-score  of  liberty 
seekers  followed  in  its  trail.  But  they  are  not 
numerically  our  ancestors.  Families  of  this  sort 
have  died  out  or  were  exiled  during  the  Revolu- 
tionary War.    None  can  show  that  more  than  a 


250  MUD  HOLLOW 

sixteenth  part  of  himself  was  due  to  anybody 
who  came  to  this  country  for  religion  or  liberty.^ 
The  mass  of  the  emigrants  were  English  clay  of 
a  very  common  sort:  redemptioners,  bankrupts, 
faded  women,  who  preferred  New  England  to  old 
English  almshouses  and  jails.  They  wanted  food, 
rum  and  license.  Being  rapid  breeders  this  ple- 
beian element,  becoming  American,  was  able  by 
revolution  to  dispossess  their  masters.  Where  are 
the  descendants  of  Puritans?  In  Bermuda,  Can- 
ada, Nova  Scotia — not  in  Boston.  The  "best 
society"  dined,  danced  and  wined  Britishers  while 
Washington  wintered  at  Valley  Forge. 

The  control  of  America  by  Puritan  thought  is 
equally  a  myth.  Since  the  Revolution  New  Eng- 
land has  been  on  the  losing  side  of  public  issues. 
New  England  protests  never  won  popular  sup- 
port. Hamilton,  Jefferson,  Jackson  and  their 
followers  controlled  up  to  the  Civil  War.  This 
subordination  of  New  England  is  readily  seen  in 
the  reactions  of  the  successive  members  of  the 
Adams  family.  Each  generation  found  itself  more 
out  of  harmony  w^ith  the  popular  trend  until  its 
final  representative,  Henry  Adams,  almost  cona- 
mitted  suicide  in  despair.  The  New  England  atti- 
tude is  a  minority  attitude,  a  resistant  attitude. 
For  good  or  bad — dominance  is  Western!  As  it 
goes,  so  goes  the  nation. 

The  West  has  been  an  open  field.  A  dozen 
varieties  of  heredity  and  tradition  have  contended. 
The  stronger  have  won.  The  result  however  has 
not  been  the  dominance  of  any  one  heredity  or 
tradition  but  a  blend  of  many  contending  factions. 
No  one  can  tell  a  Methodist  from  a  Calvinist  by 
anything  he  says  or  does.  In  general  terms  it  may 
be  said  that  the  West  is  Scotch  in  thought,  Irish 
in  action,  Methodist  in  emotion.  Put  a  Westerner 
by  himself,  he  argues  like  a  Scotchman;  bring  a 


THE  AMERICAN  BLEND  251 

hundred  together,  they  become  an  Irish  mob ;  when 
tested  emotionally,  they  are  Methodists. 

What  then  is  the  essence  of  Scotch  thought  and 
Methodist  emotion?  All  the  groups  which  have 
come  to  America  were  dissenters  representing  a 
depressed  minority  in  some  foreign  land.  Scot- 
land, however,  was  the  only  land  where  minority 
depression  was  long  and  intense  enough  to  affect 
thought.  Of  English  oppression  we  have  heard 
more,  but  it  never  was  severe  nor  long  continued. 
The  nation  never  became  Puritan  in  thought  or 
action.  Our  Puritans  were  mere  half-breeds,  mak- 
ing much  of  little ;  converts  rather  than  beings  to 
their  conviction  born.  Not  having  the  persistent 
force  of  Scotch  Calvinists,  they  remained  a  help- 
less minority  or  slid  over  into  popular  view. 

Western  thought  like  Scotch  thought  is  clan- 
nish. The  world  is  rigidly  divided  into  the  good 
and  the  bad.  We  are  the  good :  our  opponents  are 
the  bad.  God  is  on  the  side  of  the  good ;  the  devil 
take  the  bad. 

There  is,  however,  a  difference  in  the  applica- 
tion of  this  reasoning.  It  is  a  majority  not  a 
minority  clan.  A  minority  clan  sets  up  articles  to 
protect  themselves  against  the  majority.  They 
talk  of  and  believe  in  moral  judgments,  liberty, 
conscience,  self-determination  and  other  slogans 
of  defense.  These  mean  nothing  to  a  majority 
bent  on  eradicating  heresy  and  suppressing  differ- 
ence. The  similarity  and  mechanical  nature  of 
occupations  in  the  West  have  created  this  major- 
ity tone.  Where  everyone  lives  the  same  life  and 
succeeds  by  similar  means  majority  thought,  be- 
coming omnipotent,  suppresses  opposition.  Tem- 
perance agitation  is  a  typical  majority  pressure. 
Here  is  not  a  minority  protecting  themselves 
against  aggression  but  a  majority  who  set  no 
bounds  to  their  coercion. 

Such  thought,  Scotch  in  form,  is  Irish  in  action. 


252  MUD  HOLLOW 

It  is  feeling,  not  individual  judgment.  A  solid 
majority  never  has  a  conscience  nor  does  it  re- 
spect personal  rights.  The  weak  cannot  as  in 
Scotland  cross  a  mountain  or  hide  behind  a  liilL 
Dissenters  are  outcasts,  driven  into  cities,  sub- 
jected to  vile  conditions  and  gradually  eliminated. 
Dominance  is  thus  transformed  into  a  condition 
of  survival  creating  a  type  which  modifies  hered- 
ity in  its  favor. 

The  evolution  producing  these  results  can  be 
traced  more  readily  in  religion  than  in  politics. 
At  the  time  of  the  Revolution  the  mass  of  the 
American  people  formed  an  underworld  over 
which  Calvinist  restraint  had  but  slight  control. 
They  ate,  sang,  drank,  rioted;  land  was  cheap, 
liquor  plenty.  Local  influences  -which  checked  vice 
in  Europe  were  largely  lost.  Against  this  vicious 
flow  Wesley,  Whitefield  and  their  disciples  erected 
emotional  barriers  which  lifted  thousands  of  fam- 
ilies from  the  rut  of  depravity. 

The  spirit  of  the  West  came  from  these  con- 
verts, yet  its  logic  was  derived  from  the  Scotch 
who  likewise  moved  over  the  mountains  in  search 
of  homes.     Among  them,  however,  there  was  a 
cleavage  between  the  Scotch  and  the  Scotch-Irish. 
The  Scotch,  clannish,  aristocratic,  had  the  narrow 
defensive  logic  which  goes  with  dissent.    Back  of 
every  opinion  was  an  inferior  complex,  the  bane 
of  protestantism.     The  North  Irelander  is  nomi- 
nally a  dissenter  but  his  position  is  that  of  super- 
iority.    He  rules,  never  obeys.     Even  English 
authority  has  failed  to  control  him.     He  is  thus 
not  a  protestant  in  the  English  sense.    Though  a 
minority,  his  code  is  one  of  dominance.     He  is 
thus  the  worst  possible  citizen  at  home;  the  best 
of  citizens  in  other  countries  where  he  migrates. 
There  he  is  a  patriot;  alwajs  standing  for  mass 
opinion.     To   him   our  national   Constitution   is 
due.    He  it  was  who  saved  the  country  from  dis- 


THE  AMERICAN  BLEND  253 

solution  in  the  epoch  when  Jackson  was  hero. 
There  is  no  consciousness  of  dissent  in  such  an 
attitude  nor  does  the  logic  of  dissent  weigh. 

The  West  today  is  a  blend  of  these  elements. 
Its  emotion  is  Methodist.  Its  logic,  Scotch,  but 
in  action  its  Irish  dominate.  The  farther  West 
one  goes  the  more  complete  is  the  blend  in  thought, 
action  and  heredity.  The  Methodists  have  become 
Calvinists  in  thought;  the  Calvinists  are  Meth- 
odists in  emotion.  All  are  Irish  in  action.  They 
shout  with  camp-meeting  vigor;  they  grip  vice 
like  a  Scotch  elder.  Alone  they  will  argue,  but  a 
dozen  never  meet  withovit  forming  a  mob. 

Methodism  is  thoughtless  emotion;  Calvinism 
emotionless  thought.  While  Methodists  believe 
in  falling  from  grace  they  also  believe  in  a  con- 
version which,  purifying  the  heart,  creates  a  state 
of  perfection.  They  get  by  their  purification  into 
a  condition  which  the  Calvinist  thinks  he  attains 
through  heredity.  Both  are  sons  of  God,  one  by 
birth,  the  other  by  adoption.  So  much  of  the 
Methodist  as  a  convert.  But  in  time  the  church 
becomes  an  orderly  community  with  converts  who 
are  not  bold  sinners,  but  children  under  fifteen. 
Conversion  to  them  is  not  a  consciousness  of  sin, 
nor  even  a  call  to  repentance,  but  merely  the  heart- 
thumping  which  music  and  eloquence  arouse. 
Children  thus  get  into  the  second  stage  of  Meth- 
odism— perfection — without  its  first  stage — the 
consciousness  of  sin.  Converted  Methodist  cliil- 
dred  are  no  different  in  their  attitude  from  those 
of  Calvinist  families.  They  merely  attain  perfec- 
tion by  another  route. 

I  shall  not  try  to  decide  what  purity  means  to 
the  convert  cleansed  of  his  impurity,  but  what  it 
means  to  a  child  whose  notions  of  purity  are  a 
sublimation  of  personal  cleanliness.  His  starting 
point  is  a  bath-tub,  not  the  Cross.  He  idealizes 
soap,  not  blood.     His  mother  washes  his  mouth 


254  MUD  HOLLOW 

to  purify  his  words,  after  which  his  teacher  in- 
oculates him  with  the  thought  of  clean  literature 
and  clean  records.  At  puberty  he  associates  pur- 
ity with  sex  continence ;  learns  to  hate  girls,  and 
thus  attains  a  lofty  perfection  attitude  which  does 
not  differ  from  what  Calvinist  restraint  evokes. 
When  this  happens  Methodism  and  Calvinism, 
differing  only  in  words,  can  readily  blend  in  one 
system. 

Scotch  Calvinism  is  a  clan  whose  ruler  is  God 
but  whose  voice  is  the  prophet.  This  view  is 
plausible  so  long  as  natural  processes  seem  to  re- 
ward the  good  and  punish  the  bad.  But  when  the 
sun  shines  and  the  rain  falls  on  the  good  and  bad 
alike  the  warning  of  the  prophet  is  discredited. 
Calvinism  is  now  transformed  from  a  clan  to  a 
world  concept.  Who  is  the  saint  in  this  enlarged 
world  and  who  is  the  leader  on  whom  world 
salvation  depends  ?  The  reply  is  the  hero.  World- 
might  is  put  in  the  place  of  God-might.  The 
clan  is  now  this  world  remnant  battling  with  popu- 
lar tendencies.  European  thought  has  been  con- 
trolled by  these  vivid  contrasts  of  world  deprav- 
ity and  the  chosen  few,  whether  depicted  as  war 
heroes  or  as  literary  genii.  Such  is  Calvinism  in 
its  modern  form.  A  personal  vision,  a  belief  in 
self-divinity,  a  world  in  which  a  million  are  bad  to 
the  one  capable  of  self-determination.  It  has  a 
driving  force  which,  deceiving  the  few  as  to  their 
importance,  creates  a  feeling  of  divinity  among 
leaders — only  to  show  through  their  failures  what 
chumps  they  are. 

In  sharp  contrast  to  this  is  another  type  of 
divine  call,  of  which  Lincoln  is  an  example.  Myth- 
makers  reshaping  him  on  a  Greek  model  have 
created  a  contradiction  between  their  myths  and 
the  oral  tradition  handed  on  by  those  who  knew 
him.  I  never  saw  Lincoln,  but  my  father  was  one 
of  the  seven  Representatives  who  defeated  him  for 


THE  AMERICAN  BLEND  255 

Senator  in  1854.  The  attitude  of  such  a  man  is 
explained  only  by  visualizing  the  local  situation. 
Lincoln  was  a  Whig.  Lincoln  was  an  aristocrat! 
He  was  trying  to  undermine  the  national  Consti- 
tution. The  reader  will  say  that  this  was  not  so. 
The  histories  tell  a  different  tale  but  I  am  repeat- 
ing what  Democrats  thought  of  Wliigs  and  what 
the  well-meaning  though  misguided  residents  of 
Northern  Illinois  thought  of  Lincoln.  Northern 
Illinois  was  Democratic,  filled  as  it  was  by  recent 
immigrants  from  Eastern  states  who  carried  their 
local  hatreds  with  them.  In  my  home  county  there 
were  only  two  Whig  votes  in  1852.  Then  came  the 
free  soil  campaign  of  1854.  The  only  pledge  my 
father  gave  was  that  he  would  not  be  bewitched  by 
politicians  into  voting  for  a  Whig  as  Senator. 
Imagine  then  his  chagrin  to  find  that  he  was  not 
only  expected  to  vote  for  a  Whig  but  for  the  worst 
specimen  of  humanity  he  had  ever  seen.  Lincoln 
was  the  most  clumsily  constructed  man  who 
ever  walked  the  Illinois  prairies.  His  face  was  de- 
veloped on  one  side.  His  eyes  had  different  levels. 
His  long  central  face  was  coupled  with  a  wide 
mouth  and  a  monkey  chin.  So  awkward  was  he 
that  girls  would  not  be  seen  on  the  streets  with 
him.  Nothing  is  so  galling  to  a  man  as  to  know 
that  women  will  not  greet  him  except  for  money 
or  position. 

Against  these  barriers  Lincoln  strove,  with 
many  defeats.  He  had  long  periods  of  depression, 
at  times  meditating  suicide.  Then  came  the  cam- 
paign of  1858  with  its  famous  debate.  He  had  as 
an  opponent  the  most  admired  man  of  the  state. 
The  debaters  had  to  go  into  regions  where  every 
one  was  a  Democrat  and  all  were  prejudiced. 
Surely  this  would  make  the  reception  of  Douglas 
enthusiastic  and  his  victory  easy.  People  were 
asked  to  fall  in  line  behind  their  party  leader. 
They  preferred  a  strange  man  with  a  new  call. 


256  MUD  HOLLOW 

So  much  for  the  facts.  What  was  the  effect 
on  Lincoln?  Forgetting  his  physical  defects  and 
the  bitter  humiliation  of  antecedent  years,  he  act- 
ed like  a  transformed  man.  From  a  scoffer  he 
changed  into  a  believer.  Why  I  He  tasted  a  new 
kind  of  inspiration  in  his  ability  to  pass  over  his 
emotion  to  people  opposed  in  tradition  and  preju- 
dice. He  was  moved  by  a  mass  inspiration  instead 
of  the  personal  inspiration  Calvinism  evokes. 
From  that  time  he  never  asked  what  his  fellow 
Whigs  thought  but  turned  to  Democrats  for  a 
measure  of  the  effects  of  his  plans.  He  went  as 
fast  as  they  did  and  in  their  direction.  This  is 
called  ''keeping  one's  ear  to  the  ground,"  but 
which  is  inspiration  if  the  listener  awaits  the  tread 
of  the  mass  and  yearns  its  approval. 

This  illustration  taken  from  a  familiar  episode 
shows  the  change  which  came  over  the  West  in 
the  blending  of  Calvinistic  thought  and  Methodist 
emotion.  The  Calvinist  had  emotion  but  it  was 
of  the  closet  variety.  God  came  to  him  in  soli- 
tude, in  a  dream,  in  prayer.  He  became  a  prophet, 
the  voice  of  God,  a  thorn  to  the  wrong-doer. 
Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  there  are  Cal- 
vinists,  but  in  an  assembly  the  moving  spirit  is 
Methodist.  Vague,  shapeless,  intangible,  but  de- 
spite its  shortcomings  a  higher  impulse  than  the 
scold  of  a  prophet  emerging  from  his  trance. 
Prophets  bring  codes;  mass  inspiration  creates 
will. 

5 

The  Scotch  Conteibution 

The  mental  differences  between  the  various 
groups  inhabiting  the  British  Isles  have  received 
much  attention  and  often  created  bitter  contro- 
versy.    The   Scotch,  the  Irish  and  the  English 


THE  SCOTCH  CONTRIBUTION        257 

seem  like  different  races  and  on  this  basis  most  of 
the  explanations  rest.  Buckle  has  given  so  good  a 
description  of  Scotch-English  thought  peculiari- 
ties that  it  need  not  be  repeated.  The  causes, 
however,  need  emphasis  because  of  the  tendency 
to  refer  them  to  inheritable  race  differences.  It 
is  assumed  that  each  section  has  a  distinct  race 
antecedent,  when  in  fact  the  composition  of  the 
population  is  but  slightly  different.  The  con- 
trasted thought  traits  are  of  too  recent  an  origin 
to  be  ascribed  to  race.  Heredity  is  too  slow 
an  agent  to  bring  radical  changes  in  a  few  cen- 
turies. Sudden  alterations  are  due  either  to  emo- 
tion or  situation.  There  is  no  need  to  go  further 
to  account  for  all  the  peculiarities  seen  in  Britain. 

To  explain  the  source  of  thought  alterations, 
and  to  bring  out  the  small  part  heredity  has 
played  in  them,  a  couple  of  new  words  are  needed, 
which  I  shall  venture  to  coin.  All  descriptive 
terms  have  a  race  connotation  and  thus  emphasize 
inheritance.  To  use  them  is  to  give  opponents  an 
unearned  advantage,  as  words  turn  thought  into 
accustomed  grooves.  The  difference  to  be  made 
emphatic  is  that  between  dwelling  in  a  rough 
mountainous  district  and  in  pleasant  valleys.  I 
shall  call  the  dwellers  of  these  rough  upland  dis- 
tricts hillics  to  contrast  them  with  vallics,  who  live 
in  the  sunny  vales  below;  and  then  endeavor  to 
show  the  importance  of  this  contrast  in  explaining 
so-called  race  differences. 

The  valleys  are  the  center  of  tribal  conflicts. 
They  are  the  desirable  locations  and  hence  the 
reward  of  the  victor.  The  defeated  are  driven  into 
undesirable  districts  and  hold  their  own  among 
the  mountains  and  hills.  We  thus  start  \\^th  the 
difference  between  the  victor  and  the  victim,  and 
on  this  basis  seek  to  account  for  thought  differ- 
ences. The  conquered  hating  the  conqueror  ac- 
quire   inferior    complexes    which    narrow    their 


258  MUD  HOLLOW 

views.  There  is  also  a  loss  of  the  weak  and  shift- 
less who  are  attracted  to  the  valleys  by  the  lure 
of  pleasure  and  luxury.  To  guard  against  this  a 
rigid  morality  develops  among  the  hillics  which 
teaches  sacrifice  and  purity  as  means  of  offsetting 
the  luxury  and  indulgence  seen  in  the  town.  These 
tendencies  favor  an  austere  religious  tone  which 
leads  to  Calvinism.  Start  the  economic  difference 
described,  couple  it  watli  race  hatred  and  a  narrow 
range  of  economic  choices,  and  the  seeds  of  all 
sorts  of  dogmatism  find  a  fertile  soil. 

The  beliefs  of  Scotland  are  not  new.  They  are 
brewed  wherever  similar  conditions  prevail.  The 
conquered  have  always  fled  to  the  hills,  and  hated 
the  valley  dwellers  who  have  driven  them  out. 
They  have  moralized  about  towm  luxury  which 
they  were  unable  to  have.  Scotland  in  this  respect 
is  merely  a  belated  specimen  of  long-standing 
tendency,  of  which  an  early  example  was  the  He- 
brew race.  The  Jews  were  of  the  hills ;  they  could 
never  hold  their  own  against  the  lowland  races. 
Every  great  conflict  saw  them  on  the  defeated  side. 
Thought  peculiarities  were  a  natural  consequence, 
as  was  their  revival  in  Scotland  under  similar 
conditions. 

In  the  valleys  w^here  conquerors  dwell  opposing 
tendencies  prevail.  The  better  food  conditions 
promote  luxury  and  trade;  new  wants  arise  and 
demand  gratification.  Wealth  is  concentrated,  on 
the  basis  of  which  an  aristo<;racy  arises.  A  social 
division  is  thus  formed  with  a  lower  class  made 
up  of  drifters,  captives  and  slaves.  A  vallic  group 
thus  tends  to  form  classes  and  to  become  hybrid 
in  its  race  composition.  Conquerors  soon  become 
aristocratic,  luxurious,  and  rotten.  Work  falls  to 
the  under  class,  in  whom  degenerate  tendencies 
dominate.  Rome  and  Greece  are  as  good  examples 
of  vallic  urges  and  their  consequences  as  Palestine 
and  Scotland  are  of  the  forces  to  which  hillic  tribes 


THE  SCOTCH  CONTRIBUTION       259 

succumb.  The  thought  isolation  of  Scotland  and 
England  is  thus  not  new,  but  merely  a  continua- 
tion of  old  tendencies  under  modern  guises.  It 
is  not  difficult  to  trace  the  origin  of  either  mode  of 
thought.  They  have  arisen  and  thrived  in  a  multi- 
tude of  ways  since  history  began. 

The  real  problem  is  to  determine  whether  they 
are  emotional  and  hence  subject  to  rapid  change, 
or  are  the  result  of  the  permanent  alterations 
which  heredity  achieves.  The  similarity  of  the 
economic  conditions  under  which  they  arise  points 
to  a  vironal  explanation.  Heredity  cannot  act 
quickly.  If  it  were  the  cause,  the  different  places 
where  these  two  types  of  society  appear  should 
have  some  connection  in  physical  heredity.  In- 
stead of  this,  the  many  experiments  in  aristocratic 
societies  are  isolated  in  blood.  Only  the  acquired 
elements  of  civilization  are  carried  over  from  one 
race  to  another.  If  to  these  facts  we  added  the 
emotional  effect  of  inferior  comyjlexes,  the  growth 
of  hillic  concepts  is  readily  explained.  The  vari- 
ous vallic  societies  are  likewise  explained  bv  the 
thwarted  emotions  which  the  creation  of  classes 
evokes.  Couple  economics  with  emotion,  and  an 
explanation  of  history  results  which  does  not  de- 
pend on  the  alteration  of  heritable  traits. 

My  interest  as  a  student  of  history  was  excited 
by  the  suddenness  with  which  these  thought 
changes  occurred  both  in  England  and  Scotland. 
In  Shakespeare's  time  English  thought  ran  in 
different  lines  from  its  Eighteenth  Century  de- 
velopment. The  upper  class  has  grafted  on  its 
original  stock  ideas  which  only  Greece,  Rome  and 
Italy  can  explain.  This  is  apparently  due  not  to 
a  change  in  race  but  one  in  economic  prosperity. 
In  Scotland  likewise  Calvinism  is  a  late  graft. 
Early  Scotland  was  tribal,  with  fierce  contests  not 
far  above  the  level  of  Indian  wars.  Knox  and 
his  group  were  importers  of  thought ;  only  by  be- 


260  MUD  HOLLOW 

coming  Calvinistic  was  the  unity  of  Scotland  se- 
cured. Scotch  economic  life  due  to  the  lack  of 
resources  was  meagre  and  rigid  and  thus  served 
as  a  contrast  to  English  luxury.  Scottish  exhort- 
ers  talked  of  Babylon  and  Rome  but  their  real 
hatred  was  of  English  domination  and  English 
extravagance.  The  many  Eighteenth  Century  re- 
bellions show  its  force.  Only  after  Scotch  stom- 
achs were  well  filled  did  they  acquiesce  to  English 
rule. 

What  seems  heredity  is  merely  pent-up  emotion 
for  which  the  present  viron  affords  no  outlet. 
Block  human  nature  at  given  points  and  inferior 
complexes  result  which  seem  heritable,  but  which 
after  all  readily  disappear  when  new  emotional 
outlets  permit  life  to  run  in  normal  channels. 
Breeds  are  made  only  by  rigid  elimination,  in 
which  the  halter  and  the  stake  have  played  notable 
parts. 

Tradition  represents  an  easy-going  acceptance 
of  majority  opinion.  Minority  resistpnce  is 
against  this  mass  opinion.  Seeking  a  basis  to  op- 
pose the  majority,  individual  preference  is  set  up 
as  a  guide  to  action.  This  leads  to  an  emphasis 
of  principle  and  the  putting  of  deduced  conclu- 
sions in  the  place  of  traditional  fact.  Deductive 
reasoning  always  assumes  a  single  form.  The 
good  is  either  A  or  B.  B  is  bad ;  therefore  A  is 
good.  What  is  the  B  which  is  bad!  In  every  case 
it  is  the  popular  view  as  represented  by  majority 
action.  Experience,  however,  depends  on  the  pos- 
sibility of  testing  alternate  action.  A  is  tried  and 
then  B.  The  better,  measured  in  units,  is  chosen. 
But  primitive  society  does  not  offer  opportunity 
to  test  alternate  action.  A  real  choice  is  seldom 
possible.  Hence  the  clash  of  the  rational  minority 
and  the  traditional  majority. 

This  contrast  is  accentuated  by  clan  emotion. 
All  within  the  clan  is  good;  all  outside  is  bad. 


THE  SCOTCH  CONTRIBUTION        261 

Clan  morality  and  the  outside  world  morality 
clash.  Clan  reasoning  is  thus  a  defense  against 
world  tendencies.  Clan  tendencies  are  uphold 
not  by  pragmatic  proof,  but  by  showing  the  bad- 
ness of  the  outside  w^orld  in  which  opposing  cus- 
toms prevail.  Scotland  is  not  the  place  where 
these  tendencies  originated.  Minorities  every- 
where have  resorted  to  similar  defenses,  but  in 
Scotland  these  tendencies  have  been  sharpened. 
It  has  thus  earned  the  place  in  the  modern  world 
held  by  the  Jews  in  the  ancient.  From  it  has 
spread  the  rational  thought  which  Calvinism  re- 
flects in  religion.  No  other  race  ever  withstood 
a  two-century  persecution  nor  held  out  against 
such  unremitting  opposition.  There  is  scarcely  a 
Scotchman  but  has  a  dozen  martyrs  among  his 
ancestors.  It  is  almost  a  joke  to  compare  this 
ordeal  to  that  of  the  Puritans,  a  group  of  half- 
breeds  who  never  had  a  martyr  nor  even  a  severe 
persecution. 

Calvinism  is  a  clannish  reaction  against  world 
influences.  So  long  as  these  were  the  only  alter- 
natives Scotch  dissent  became  more  rational  and 
deductive.  The  third  and  the  ultimately  victori- 
ous attitude  was  industrial  pragm^atism  as  repre- 
sented by  the  English.  With  its  success  Scot- 
land, losing  its  identity,  became  an  English  prov- 
ince. 

The  part  Scotch  ancestors  played  in  this  move- 
ment was  to  resist  commercial  pragmatic  tenden- 
cies, to  accentuate  deductive  reasoning,  and  to 
maintain  clan  isolation.  Judged  by  modern  stan- 
dards they  were  on  the  losing  side  of  every  issue, 
and  thus  brought  on  themselves  the  majority  per- 
secution from  which  all  minorities  suffer.  Not 
much  can  be  said  of  their  opinions,  but  much  can 
be  said  of  the  spirit  in  which  they  held  their 
opinions  and  endured  their  self-imposed  misfor- 
tunes.   In  character  they  were  progressive  to  the 


262  MUD  HOLLOW 

degree  that  they  were  retrogressive  in  opinion. 

Character  building  is  a  process  of  elimination. 
Majorities  degenerate  because  through  their  suc- 
cess the  standard  of  elimination  is  lowered.  The 
weak  thus  tend  to  survive  and  to  dominate.  A 
persecuted  minority,  losing  their  weak  members, 
gain  in  character.  It  was  thus  with  the  Scotch. 
Their  vigorous  opposition  to  progress  is  the  key  to 
their  manliness.  Good  heredity  and  bad  opinions 
have  the  same  causes.  The  only  escape  from  this 
dilemma  is  immigration.  The  impossible  citizen  at 
home  becomes  the  best  citizen  if  transplanted  to 
some  new  region. 

This  salvation  came  to  the  Scotch,  more  by  luck 
than  design.  Of  all  bad  movements  in  which  our 
stubborn  ancestors  indulged  the  cause  of  Prince 
Charley  was  the  worst.  This  led  to  the  battle 
of  Colloden  where  the  Scotch  obtained  much  re- 
nown, but  also  an  utter  defeat.  The  glory  was  for 
the  Highlander  but  the  spoils  went  to  the  English. 
Our  forbears  thus  lost  their  estates  and  suffered 
a  persecution  which  only  the  English  know  how  to 
inflict,  but  finally  were  permitted  to  migrate  as 
the  best  means  of  ridding  Scotland  of  them.  Peace 
came  to  Scotland  and  America  gained  a  superior 
but  pig-headed  group  which  has  both  made  and 
resisted  uplifting  influences  in  America. 

Scotch  humor  is  under-dog  sympathy.  The 
weak  in  some  way  outwits  the  strong.  The  on- 
lookers are  aroused  by  the  conflict  and  the  sur- 
prise of  the  under-dog  victory  sending  the  pent- 
up  energy  along  unusual  routes  creates  those 
muscular  reactions  called  a  laugh.  The  situation 
is  one  which  only  those  who  expect  defeat  can 
enjoy.  Most  American  humor  is  of  this  sort, 
expressing  a  joy  at  the  shrewdness  of  the  weak 
and  lowly.  It  points  a  moral  for  their  betterment. 
English  humor  is  the  reverse  of  this.  When  in  a 
severe  conflict  the  weak  opponent  suddenly  col- 


THE  SCOTCH  CONTRIBUTION        263 

lapses,  the  energy  directed  against  him  is  blocked 
and  turned  into  unexpected  channels.  The  victor 
laughs,  lauds  himself,  despises  the  vanquislied  foe. 

A  dog  is  chasing  a  fox.  Most  people  will  sym- 
pathize with  the  dog,  deeming  the  fox  a  destruc- 
tive rascal.  A  child  will,  however,  sympathize 
with  the  fox  and  hope  for  its  escape.  When  the 
crisis  comes  one  group  will  laugh  if  the  dog  suc- 
ceeds ;  the  other  if  he  fails.  There  is  a  blocking 
of  energy  in  both  cases ;  its  transference  to  new, 
unexpected  channels  creates  a  laugh  because  the 
surprise  is  the  same  although  its  cause  is  diif  erent. 

The  same  tendencies  lie  back  of  popular  logic. 
The  American  has  an  under-dog  attitude.  Some- 
thing is  always  wrong.  Somebody  is  depriving 
him  of  his  rights.  He  is  after  a  rascal  or  deep 
in  sorrow  because  of  some  impending  doom.  One 
seldom  hears  of  an  American's  attempting  any- 
thing constructive.  His  interest  is  in  the  avoid- 
ance of  evil,  not  in  attainment  of  the  good.  The 
groups  which  settled  America  were  persecuted  in 
the  lands  from  which  they  came.  They  readily 
fell  into  the  Scotch  way  of  reasoning,  spending 
their  energy  building  defenses  instead  of  working 
for  future  ends.  World-depravity  is  thus  a  popu- 
lar theme,  so  popular  that  even  the  Methodists 
have  succumbed.  The  Scotch  have  become  Meth- 
odist in  emotion,  the  Methodist,  Scotch  in  thought. 
This  is  the  American  blend  in  contrast  to  which 
is  the  typical  New  Englander  who  applauds  con- 
science, character,  local  institutions  and  the  parts 
of  the  national  Constitution  which  uphold  indi- 
vidual rights.  The  fewer  those  who  side  with 
him  the  firmer  his  belief,  while  being  alone  makes 
his  cause  worthy  of  martyrdom.  A  Scotchman  will 
start  with  as  firm  personal  opinions  as  the  con- 
scientious objector  but  if  his  neighbors  hold  firmly 
to  their  adverse  opinion  he  will  fall  in  line  before 


264  MUD  HOLLOW 

election.  He  may  fight  the  world,  but  never  his 
clan.  What  it  wants  he  in  the  end  accepts.  His 
reasoning  has  so  many  conditioning  clauses  that 
some  of  them  give  way  if  too  severely  pressed.  A 
mass  judgment  results  against  which  opposition 
is  futile. 

Minorities  of  all  sorts  are  losing  in  numbers 
and  standing.  Each  new  epoch  puts  the  triumph- 
ant majority  in  a  stronger  position.  Few  can 
resist  a  pressure  which  seems  to  be  nature  itself. 


Pioneer  Values 

Calvinism  held  that  everything  is  predestined 
because  a  part  of  God's  plan,  devised  before  the 
foundation  of  the  earth.  It  is  thus  the  symbol  of 
divine  control.  Against  such  rigid  views  there  is 
an  emotional  antagonism  which  Methodism  keenly 
voices.  A  compromise  between  human  freedom 
and  divine  guidance  has  been  effected  by  an  isola- 
tion of  heavenly  and  earthly  affairs.  God  rules 
in  heaven  but  no  longer  on  earth.  The  existence 
of  God  and  God's  control  are  distinct  problems. 
All  recent  theology  is  devoted  to  the  proof  of 
God's  existence.  He  is  assumed  to  rule  heaven 
but  the  planets  run  themselves.  Methodist  and 
Calvinist  alike  accept  heaven  as  a  fact  and  be- 
lieve that  St.  Peter  has  its  keys,  but  no  one  any 
longer  prays  for  rain  or  expects  God  to  harvest 
Ms  crops.  Heaven  is  controlled  by  God  yet  nature 
runs  the  earth.  This  ruins  the  predestination 
scheme  by  which  the  good  are  saved  no  matter 
how  bad,  and  the  bad  damned  despite  their  virtues. 
The  successful  succeed,  not  those  whose  names 
are  written  in  the  Lamb's  Book  of  Ijife. 

The  events  by  which  this  theological  compro- 


PIONEER   VALUES  265 

mise  was  forced  came  from  the  exigencies  of 
pioneer  life.  The  old  world  was  a  world  of  miracle 
and  prayer.  Man  supplicated.  God  gave  protec- 
tion through  direct  intervention  in  human  affairs. 
Jewish  history,  from  which  these  views  are  de- 
rived, illustrates  the  frailty  of  man  and  the  pres- 
ence of  miraculous  salvation.  The  Jews  were 
helpless  against  their  powerful  neighbors.  They 
had  long  seasons  of  drought,  making  rain  seem  the 
gift  of  God  instead  of  the  work  of  nature;  they 
were  subject  to  contagious  diseases  which  came 
intermittently  and  over  which  they  had  no  control. 
Prayer  always  succeeded;  human  effort  always 
failed.  God  could  be  readily  enthroned  in  such  a 
region  and  made  the  determiner  of  events.  He 
punished  the  bad ;  he  rewarded  the  good.  He  re- 
vealed the  codes  by  which  salvation  was  obtained. 
_  Primitive  Europe  was  a  half-way  land,  not  quite 
like  Judea  yet  not  different  enough  to  create  a 
revolt  against  the  then  established  theology.  There 
was  plenty  of  rain  but  disease  was  as  rampant 
as  of  old.  The  arbitrary  action  of  rulers  made 
the  subject  as  helpless  as  if  his  home  had  been 
on  the  fringe  of  an  Asiatic  desert. 

In  the  pioneer  life  of  America  these  views  were 
put  to  test  for  the  first  time,  thus  creating  a  theo- 
logic  crisis.  America  had  plenty  of  rain;  a  free- 
dom from  disease ;  no  despotic  ruler ;  no  tax  gath- 
erer; plenty  of  land  to  be  had  for  the  asking;  a 
rich  soil  giving  an  abundant  return.  This  made 
success  depend  on  effort,  with  which  went  a  dei- 
fication of  success.  God  still  had  the  keys  to  heav- 
en but  was  no  longer  consulted  in  mundane  affairs. 

The  essence  of  this  alteration  in  pioneer  values 
is  easily  presented  even  if  its  details  are  still  sub- 
ject to  dispute.  The  first  element  in  social  life  is 
security.  Jehovah  gave  security;  hence  Jehovah 
is  God.  "Not  so,"  says  the  pioneer,  *' property 
gives  security  and  hence  property  is  God."    This 


266  MUD  HOLLOW 

attitude  is  reflected  everywhere ;  the  farther  West 
one  goes  the  stronger  it  is.  AVlien  the  courts 
make  property  supreme  they  merely  reflect  the 
attitude  of  dominant  opinion.  No  one  in  America 
feels  secure,  nor  is  he,  without  property.  Its 
emphasis  is  thus  a  natural  attitude  due  to  pioneer 
values. 

A  second  problem  is  the  source  of  support.  In 
a  primitive  society  support  is  not  a  product  but 
the  result  of  a  miracle.  People  pray ;  food  comes ; 
they  pray  again  and  their  various  wishes  are 
gratified  from  some  unforeseen,  unexpected 
source.  Human  effort  is  at  a  discount.  Humility, 
patience,  sacrifice,  fasting,  prayer,  thus  become 
the  lauded  traits.  The  Bible  teaches  again  and 
again  the  futility  of  trying  to  help  oneself.  The 
worst  sinners  are  the  bold  innovators  who  blaze 
their  own  track. 

In  the  place  of  these  doctrines  has  arisen  on  the 
frontier  a  labor  philosophy  which  encourages  ef- 
fort, lauds  initiative  and  thus  views  every  product 
as  the  legitimate  rew^ard  of  labor.  Nothing  comes 
from  God.  Morality  has  no  claim.  Neither  nature 
nor  society  are  recognized  as  legitimate  sharers 
in  product.  If  a  worker  settles  on  a  tract  of 
land,  plows  and  hoes  it,  what  he  does  creates  the 
crop.    The  land  he  has  made.    All  is  his. 

Labor  is  thus  the  second  element  in  the  God- 
head. The  third  is  money.  In  saying  this  I  do 
not  mean  wealth,  but  the  possession  of  ready  cash. 
This  gives  to  the  frontier  man  his  sense  of  liberty. 
Put  a  handful  of  change  in  one  pocket,  a  roll  of 
bills  in  the  other,  and  a  Westerner  thinks  he  owns 
the  world  because  he  feels  everything  comes  with 
money.  To  be  free  from  debt  and  to  have  monov 
in  the  bank  means  liberty  and  goods  control.  The 
cogency  of  paper  money  fallacies  comes  from  this 
feeling.  Whosoever  has  money  is  free;  whoso- 
ever makes  money  has  others  at  command.    Give 


PIONEEE  VALUES  267 

a  man  money  and  he  whistles ;  without  it  he  falls 
the  slave  of  Wall  Street  or  of  some  similar  octo- 
pus. His  forefather  would  not  have  thought  thus ; 
he  would  have  said  that  liberty  dejjended  on  Con- 
stitutional restraint.  He  wanted  to  keep  free 
from  external  oppression  and  deemed  the  national 
Constitution  as  a  necessary  safeguard.  All  this 
has  passed.  No  American  thinks  of  law  or  Con- 
stitution except  as  an  obstacle  to  get  around. 
All  the  early  Constitutional  amendments  were  en- 
acted to  protect  the  individual.  The  new  ones, 
like  the  income  tax  and  prohibition,  are  designed 
to  give  mass  judgment  a  greater  control  over 
minorities.  Majorities  not  only  have  no  respect 
for  minorities  but  they  go  out  of  their  way  to 
throw  stones.  This  is  One  Hundred  Per  Cent. 
Americanism,  a  feeling  that  money  in  the  pocket, 
not  Constitutional  restraint,  is  the  basis  of  liberty. 
It  gives  to  might  a  control  of  the  mightless,  and 
to  force  a  supremacy  over  law. 

This  frontier  philosophy  alters  social  values. 
Privilege,  race  and  saintliness  lose  their  ascend- 
ency; sacrifice  and  poverty  are  no  longer  ideals; 
beauty  is  measured  in  terms  of  corn  rows.  In 
their  place  comes  a  worship  of  energy ;  dash  over- 
rules caution,  strategy  rates  higher  than  open 
conduct;  above  all  is  a  love  of  adventure  which 
lures  to  bold  undertakings.  On  the  surface  the 
old  is  restrained  but  beneath  is  a  reverse  current 
which  undermines  what  the  past  has  wrought. 
On  weekdays  men  are  in  the  new  world,  on  Sun- 
days they  go  back  thousands  of  years  and  sleep 
in  the  graveyards  of  their  ancestors. 

For  this  change  no  fitting  word  has  been  coined. 
Men  fail  to  see  the  absurdity  of  their  position 
because  the  words  they  use  are  symbols  capable 
of  multiple  interpretation.  The  essence,  however, 
is  easily  stated.  It  is  the  difference  between  the 
under  dog,  and  top  dog  sympathy.    Morality  has 


268  MUD  HOLLOW 

developed  as  a  defense  of  the  weak  against  the 
strong.  The  lower  class  surviving,  their  morality- 
has  become  that  of  the  race.  Men  therefore  feel 
that  the  weak  are  better  than  the  strong  and  that 
yielding  is  better  than  domination.  "The  meek 
shall  inherit  the  earth."  Yes,  so  long  as  the 
strong  kill  themselves  off  by  war  and  dissipation. 
But  when  these  evils  cease  the  pinch  is  on  the 
meek.  Against  the  warrior  and  the  aristocrat 
the  meek  may  survive,  but  he  who  works,  figures 
and  exploits  forces  to  the  wall  those  who  live  on 
God's  providence.  The  top  dog  survives  and  to 
him  public  sjonpathy  turns.  Blessed  are  they 
who  succeed. 
/  What  cannot  be  described  in  words  can  be  pic- 

]/  \/tured  by  another  anecdote  of  my  father,  whose 
philosophy  was  "frontier,"  of  the  purest  sort. 
He  settled  in  the  middle  of  an  Illinois  swamp 
which  he  had  plowed,  drained  and  tilled  until  it 
was  a  garden.  Every  acre  meant  to  him  toil  and 
sacrifice.  He  knew  just  when  and  how  it  had 
been  turned  from  waste  to  productive  soil.  So  in 
his  later  years  he  had  a  block  of  land  a  mile  and 
a  half  long  as  good  as  any  in  the  state.  It  was  a 
show  place,  the  pride  of  the  town.  All  went  well 
until  the  village  was  transformed  into  a  town  by 
the  building  of  a  factory.  With  this  came  a 
Socialist  who,  seeing  the  farm  with  its  fine  cattle, 
horses,  barns  and  crops,  stood  on  the  street  corner 
and  expressed  the  wish  that  Patten  would  have 
boils  until  he  returned  his  land  to  the  town.  This 
broke  my  father  all  up.  It  is  fair  to  say  that 
judged  by  frontier  standards  he  was  a  good  citi- 
zen, generous,  public-spirited  and  a  model  of  in- 
dustry. That  his  well-meaning  conduct,  that  pro- 
vision for  children  and  old  age  was  disreputable, 
was  a  view  he  could  not  understand.  He  was  not 
prepared  to  be  cast  out  among  the  publicans  and 

yX  v/sinners ;  nor  were  his  neighbors. 


PIONEEE   VALUES  269 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  justify  either  position. 
I  merely  wish  to  put  the  contrast  sharply.  My 
father  had  views  which  came  legitimately  out  of 
his  situation.  He  thought  in  terms  of  labor,  re- 
garded property  as  the  basis  of  security  and  felt 
free  when  land  was  without  mortgage  and  he  had 
money  in  pocket.  He  got  these  views  from  the 
hard  knocks  of  frontier  life  while  his  opponent 
obtained  his  from  books  or  from  midnight  confer- 
ences behind  closed  doors.  It  was  thus  an  old 
philosophy  against  a  new — Europe  against  Amer- 
ica. A  reaction  to  re-establish  what  was,  instead 
of  a  desire  to  push  into  the  future. 

If,  however,  my  father  had  stopped  a  moment 
to  think  impartially  he  would  have  discovered  a 
strange  likeness  between  what  the  Socialist  said 
and  what  was  preached  to  him  all  his  life  on 
Sunday.  What  Christ  said  and  what  the  Social- 
ist declared  had  more  in  common  than  he  would 
admit;  he  plainly  was  the  innovator,  not  the 
Socialist. 

It  is  Methodist  to  worship  Christ:  to  Him 
emotion  goes  out,  yet  most  churches  leave  him 
disconsolate  on  the  doorstep.  Either  they  are 
wrong  and  frontier  philosophy  a  misdirected  ad- 
venture, or  Christ's  doctrines  need  the  pruning 
He  gave  the  words  of  the  prophets.  As  an  exam- 
ple of  sacrifice  his  figure  is  heroic  as  ever  but  new 
epochs  need  new  morals  as  much  as  they  do  new 
politics  and  economics.  The  law  of  Moses  reflect- 
ed primitive  needs;  the  sayings  of  Christ  are 
applicable  to  the  period  of  Roman  dominance  but 
today  we  need  a  third  Testament,  which  will  meet 
our  needs  as  aptly  as  each  of  the  earlier  morali- 
ties fitted  the  situations  out  of  which  they  arose. 
Nothing  but  the  extension  of  frontier  philosophy 
to  these  fields  can  create  a  morality  in  which  deed 
and  thought  harmonize.  ''Back  to  Christ"  is  a  bad 
slogan.  Only  new  adventures  can  solve  our 
perplexities. 


270  MUD  HOLLOW 


The  Passing  of  Dissent 

Thought  is  the  outcome  of  a  struggle  between 
inherited  vigor  and  acquired  tradition.  It  is  the 
means  by  which  the  culture  and  ideas  of  the  de- 
feated are  fastened  on  their  vigorous,  brutal  suc- 
cessors. Thought  is  thus  the  defense  of  an  un- 
successful minority  against  a  triumphant  major- 
ity. Minorities  think;  majorities  act.  Thought 
therefore  becomes  the  accumulated  protest  of 
minorities  against  the  aggression  of  the  mass. 
Every  thought  movement  has  the  same  general 
cast  and  the  same  aim.  Coming  when  a  superior 
class  is  losing  its  physical  control,  it  is  the  means 
by  which  a  part  of  their  old  superiority  is  retained. 
In  any  fresh  combination  the  heredity  is  of  the 
new ;  the  thought  is  of  the  old.  It  thus  represents 
an  upper  class  view  impressed  on  a  lower  class 
heredity. 

In  the  upper  class  view  the  lower  class  are  not 
only  low  but  bad.  Whatever  succeeds  is  therefore 
bad.  The  right  is  always  defeated ;  the  defeated 
always  right.  Thought  processes  thus  become  de- 
structive and  negative.  The  right,  says  the  classic 
thinker,  is  either  A  or  B.  It  cannot  be  B  since  B 
is  bad.  Hence  it  is  A.  Strip  this  form  of  its 
abstract  character  and  it  affirms  that  the  lower 
class  is  bad ;  therefore  the  upper  class  is  right  and 
good.  The  proof  consists  in  showing  the  badness 
of  the  low,  not  the  goodness  of  the  high. 

In  modern  times  this  formula  has  become  the 
basis  of  dissent.  The  defeated  resort  to  thought 
processes  to  show  that  they  are  right.  They  prove 
mass  depravity  and  use  it  as  a  justification  of 
themselves.  Liberty,  duty,  conscience,  autonomy, 
have  become  slogans  to  justify  dissent  and  are 


THE  PASSING  OF  DISSENT  271 

thus  interwoven  with  advanced  thought.  For 
ages  democracy  has  been  the  striving  of  a  minor- 
ity against  an  aggressive  majority.  Hence  the 
thought  and  principles  of  democracy  are  those  of 
dissent. 

These  facts  can  be  seen  in  the  constitutional  de- 
velopment of  England  or  America.  There  are 
plenty  of  rules  to  check  majorities,  none  to  permit 
effective  action  by  a  triumphant  group.  Every 
progressive  stage  is  thus  a  conflict  between  rules 
designed  to  protect  minorities  and  the  majority 
desire  to  create  fresh  adjustment.  Likewise  our 
religious  struggles  have  been  minorities  who  dis- 
sent and  majorities  who  oppress.  In  the  end  the 
minorities  win — with  the  result  that  their  thought 
defenses  are  impressed  on  succeeding  generations. 

I  shall  not  follow  this  reasoning  to  its  limit, 
but  merely  mention  the  similarity  of  thought  pro- 
cesses in  all  fields,  scientific,  religious,  political 
and  cultural,  so  as  to  describe  tlie  present  situa- 
tion. For  the  first  time  in  history  a  persisting 
majority  is  forming.  In  America  this  majority 
has  thousands  of  years  of  undisputed  supremacy 
ahead.  A  philosophy  of  dissent  will  not  fit  such  a 
condition.  It  must  in  the  end  break  and  be  re- 
placed by  modes  of  reasoning  in  harmony  with 
effective  action. 

When  it  is  realized  that  the  principles  of  dis- 
sent cannot  furnish  the  basis  on  which  majority 
thought  can  build,  it  is  not  difficult,  taking  another 
step,  to  see  in  how  many  ways  the  old  thought  is 
being  undermined.  Deductive  morality  is  linked 
with  a  series  of  rational  judgments  all  of  which 
stand  or  fall  together.  They  are  parts  of  the 
philosophy  of  dissent  and  lose  their  validity  with 
its  passing.  Among  them  are  individuality,  ego- 
ism, superraan-nishness  with  their  consequences  in 
sacrifice,  duty  and  veneration.  In  each  case  the 
support  is  negative.    The  badness  of  the  opposite 


272  MUD  HOLLOW 

is  shown,  not  the  inherent  good  of  the  defended. 
Without  the  doctrine  of  world  depravity  all  these 
defenses  fail.  The  dissipated  of  each  age  fail  to 
propagate  themselves.  Those  who  chose  wisely, 
surviving,  start  the  next  generation  on  their  level. 
Discipline,  sacrifice  and  personal  integrity  have 
an  influence  in  determining  who  of  each  genera- 
tion shall  survive ;  but  not  on  the  surviving  type. 
If  Rome  and  France  have  declined  in  vigor  some- 
thing other  than  the  degeneration  of  character  is 
the  cause. 

The  issue  here  presented  has  been  often  seen 
but  met  in  a  wrong  way.  William  James  would 
preserve  discipline  and  sacrifice,  but  would  put 
some  useful  sacrifice  in  the  place  of  traditional 
motives.  He,  however,  overlooked  that  discipline 
must  have  some  driving  force  external  to  the  per- 
sons on  whom  it  is  imposed.  If  the  young  like 
dancing  and  gaming  better  than  praying,  doing 
good  or  digging  ditches,  what  force  is  there  to 
alter  their  preference?  Only  an  ugly  picture  of 
the  consequences  would  create  the  motive  for 
suppressing  dancing  and  this  would  be  a  return 
to  the  depravity  doctrine.  Herbert  Spencer  in 
turn,  seeing  the  break  in  the  old  morality,  was  so 
wrought  that  he  departed  from  the  plan  of  his 
philosophy  to  create  a  new  basis  for  ethics.  His 
scheme  failed  as  other  deductive  schemes  fail, 
because  they  assume  old  motives  can  be  so  trans- 
formed as  to  produce  new  effects.  No  new  driving 
force  is  thus  obtained.  In  the  end  the  old  persists 
and  with  it  comes  a  return  to  the  old  morality. 

The  true  approach  must  come  from  another 
quarter.  Morality  is  not  in  danger  of  a  decline 
so  long  as  physical  heredity  remains  unchanged. 
The  problem  is  not  of  checking  a  decline  but  of 
observing  the  way  in  which  mass  judgments  are 
formed.  This  has  not  been  done  because  of  the 
belief  that  mass  judgments  are  wrong.     If  the 


THE  PASSING  OF  DISSENT  273 

movies  attract  huge  audiences  no  one  asks  why 
they  do,  but  how  they  can  be  prevented  from  de- 
grading public  taste.  The  moral  plea  is  thus  for 
censorship,  restraint  and  suppression. 

The  normal  should  do  as  their  inherent  tenden- 
cies urge ;  the  abnormal  should  be  placed  not  un- 
der moral  but  under  physical  restraint.  The 
measure  of  social  advance  is  thus  not  the  moral 
restraint  imposed  on  the  public,  but  the  degree  in 
which  the  subnormal  is  excluded  from  its  privi- 
leges. We  discuss  in  terms  of  deductive  morals, 
but  when  a  national  decision  is  to  be  made  we  do 
the  do-able,  which  always  coincides  with  the  de- 
mands of  action.  People  nod  with  approval  at 
deductive  principles,  w^hile  discussing,  but  throw 
them  over  when  called  upon  to  act.  The  surviving 
element  is  giving  more  freedom  to  itself,  but  at 
the  same  time  increases  the  severity  of  its  action 
against  those  who  differ  from  it.  America  is  thus 
becoming  a  clan  whose  action  is  racially  upbuild- 
ing not  through  the  rectitude  of  the  normal  but 
through  the  elimination  of  abnormal  tendencies. 

This  modification  of  thought  is  in  essence  a 
change  from  reasoned  judgments  to  action  judg- 
ments. Eeasoned  judgments  are  top  class  deci- 
sions based  on  the  past  experience  of  this  class. 
It  is  thus  a  restraint  on  the  low^er  class,  not  an 
incentive  to  change.  An  action  judgment  is  a 
probable  judgment  which  has  in  it  the  risk  of 
failure.  In  action  the  test  is  in  the  superiority  of 
heredity.  Those  who  break  mth  tradition  wdn. 
The  opposing  faction  shelter  themselves*  behind 
towering  walls  only  in  the  end  to  become  victims 
of  their  own  over-caution. 

If,  instead  of  a  general  denunciation  of  mass 
tendencies,  their  good  features  are  studied,  the 
firmness  of  social  progress  becomes  manifest.  We 
have  before  us  not  a  general  smash  with  a  possible 
recovery  on  some  ideal  basis,  but  a  shift  already 


274  MUD  HOLLOW 

partially  made  from  one  standard  to  another. 
The  position  of  democratic  doctrine  affords  an 
admirable  example.  No  one  today  would  say 
democracy  is  all  bad  or  all  good.  Its  badness  is 
vilely  bad  and  its  goodness  equally  manifest.  But 
when  a  world  student  like  Mr.  Bryce  makes  a 
study,  its  superiority — not  over  some  ideal,  but 
over  any  past  form  of  government — is  evident. 
Such  also  would  be  the  decision  if  mass  judgment 
were  given  a  fair  hearing.  It  is  hard  on  minori- 
ties, intolerant  of  dissent,  scornful  of  genius, 
leadership  and  ideals;  yet  it  is  gradually  but 
crudely  beating  its  way  to  better  adjustment. 

Three  changes  in  thought  flow  from  this  atti- 
tude. There  is  a  loss  of  conscience,  a  loss  of  de- 
ductive reasoning  and  of  feelings  dependent  on 
aristocratic  exclusiveness.  Each  of  these  are 
minority  defenses.  They  are  the  mainstays  of 
weak  minorities  who  are  fighting  majority  opinion. 
The  conscientious  person  sets  his  judgment  above 
that  of  the  community  and  places  an  internal  sub- 
jective feeling  above  the  evidence  of  the  senses. 
The  aristocrat  feeds  his  feeling  of  superiority  by 
emphasizing  acts  or  expressions  which  isolate  him 
from  his  assumed  inferiors.  The  deductive  rea- 
soner  uses  his  powers  to  uphold  premises  for 
which  direct  evidence  is  lacking.  These  and  their 
similar  go  with  the  acceptance  of  the  logic  of  suc- 
cess instead  of  dissent.  In  their  place  come  ani- 
mal traits  which  are  truly  natural  characters. 
The  love  of  display,  imitation,  reasoning  from 
analogy,  mass  judgment,  the  dislike  of  the  strange 
and  the  symbolizing  of  motives  gaining  in  force 
show  a  return  to  attitudes  which  controlled  dis- 
tant ancestors.  The  prominent  feature  of  today^s 
progress  is  the  disintegration  of  complexes  which 
have  been  thought  to  be  the  rocks  on  which  char- 
acter was  built.  The  wicked  are  no  longer  re- 
strained by  inborn  feelings  but  by  public  opinion 


SOCIAL  VALUES  275 

and  the  knowledge  of  results.  The  shocks  and  dis- 
illusions of  recent  times  are  forcing  men  to  dig 
deeper  for  the  real  rocks  on  which  evolution  rests. 
Men  may  not  find  them  but  they  will  at  least  learn 
the  difference  between  the  natural  and  the  ac- 
quired. Only  as  they  learn  this  can  a  new  moral- 
ity and  a  new  logic  be  built  which,  even  though 
it  may  not  make  the  few  better,  will  lift  the  masses 
into  a  sounder  civilization.  If  posterity  is  im- 
proved, bolder  in  action,  firmer  in  judgment, 
keener  in  joy,  what  matters  the  repression  which 
the  transition  imposes  ? 


Social  Values 

The  preceding  sections  leave  the  discussion  of 
values  in  an  unsatisfactory  shape;  losses  are  so 
emphasized  that  the  situation  is  made  to  appear 
worse  than  it  is.  Not  that  depreciation  is  new: 
many  writers  have  noted  worse  things,  but  they 
have  done  it  with  the  thought  of  showing  some 
new  morality  to  replace  the  old. 

Such  a  task  is  not  within  my  scheme.  There  are 
many  visions  of  moral  regeneration  which  might 
work  if  conditions  were  favorable  but  which,  how- 
ever, are  as  yet  ideal  rather  than  fact.  The  world 
does  not  go  to  pieces  and  then  be  reconstructed 
in  some  subsequent  age.  The  process  of  tearing 
down  and  rebuilding  is  going  on  at  the  same  time. 
Nor  are  the  losses  in  one  field  replaced  by  gains 
in  the  same  field.  It  is  by  the  whole  not  by  specific 
parts  that  progress  of  an  age  is  to  be  judged. 
Old  morality  is  the  morality  which  minorities 
have  imposed  on  majorities.  The  few  have  domi- 
nated at  the  expense  of  the  many.  Small  regions 
through  some  technical  superiority  have  exploited 


276  MUD  HOLLOW 

their  neighbors.  To  the  victors  go  the  spoils 
in  return  for  which  the  victim  gets  an  imposed 
sacrificial  morality. 

Our  cherished  moral  and  political  principles  are 
thus  imported  products  carried  along  by  tradi- 
tions which  are  hard  to  break.  Chief  of  these  in 
religion  is  the  doctrine  of  conscience,  in  politics 
the  emphasis  of  liberty.  That  a  clear  conscience 
is  the  mark  of  personal  integrity  no  one  would 
deny,  but  that  deeds  of  a  clear  conscience  are 
beneficial  for  the  public  is  open  to  question.  A 
conscience  is  of  value  in  settling  disputes  with 
neighbors,  but  of  no  use  in  the  larger  social  rela- 
tions w^here  the  evils  of  an  act  are  out  of  sight. 

The  rights  of  minorities  are  likewise  important 
in  local  issues  where  between  the  two  factions 
many  linking  relations  exist.  To  injure  a  neigh- 
bor is  to  injure  oneself.  His  good  is  also  yours 
in  all  mutual  relations.  As  soon,  however,  as 
passage  is  made  to  relations  involving  world  evp- 
lution,  the  status  is  altered.  Minorities  suffer  in 
world  changes.  Are  forced  to  the  wall,  disin- 
tegrated and  destroyed.  Majorities  survive,  re- 
construct and  thus  by  their  pressure  create  a  new 
world.  A  clear  conscience  cannot  determine  the 
justice  of  the  Allies'  policy  toward  Eussia.  Nor 
do  the  rights  of  minorities  justify  the  North  of 
Ireland  in  blocking  the  unification  of  the  British 
empire.  The  Quaker  who  sought  freedom  of  con- 
science by  a  bold  adventure  across  turbulent  seas 
is  worthy  of  praise.  He  who  rushes  to  a  draft 
board  or  to  Washington  to  gain  exemption  from 
duties  which  his  neighbor  must  perform  in  his 
stead  is  an  object  of  derision.  In  a  small  world 
each  may  pick  his  job  but  in  a  universe  he  must 
take  what  is  given.  On  these  cases  most  people 
would  agree  and  yet  deplore  the  losses  which 
world  decisions  make.  They  see  the  sins  of  those 
who  obstruct  but  not  the  substitute.     Can  blind 


SOCIAL  VALUES  277 

evolution  be  trusted  to  solve  problems  which  the 
greatest  intellects  fail  to  decipher?  From  this 
comes  a  pessimism  which  seems  inevitable  when 
ethical  standards  fail. 

To  point  a  new  morality  is  to  dip  into  the  far 
future,  some  thousand  years  hence.  What  hap- 
pens then  will  not  guide  the  world  in  the  present 
crisis.  It  is  forces  now  at  work  on  which  salvation 
depends.  An  illustration  is  furnished  by  my  sum- 
mer neighbor,  who  spent  year  after  year  fishing 
while  his  neighbors  were  garnering  their  crops. 
All  appeals  to  higher  motives  were  met  with  an 
incredulous  smile.  When  the  automobile  came  he 
watched  it  with  indifference  for  a  time  but  finally 
came  under  its  spell.  To  fish  demanded  merely  a 
boat  he  could  construct,  but  to  own  an  automobile 
meant  work  and  economy.  Between  the  two  was 
a  struggle,  yet  in  the  end  the  machine  won.  Neigh- 
bors told  me  in  the  spring  that  Jones  had  gone  to 
work.  In  the  fall  he  said  to  me  that  he  had  not 
been  on  the  water  once  during  the  summer.  Jones 
had  no  better  principles  after  than  before,  but  a 
radical  change  was  made  in  his  mental  outlook. 
Formerly  men  had  to  go  to  the  frontier  to  re- 
organize their  lives.  Now  the  new  sings  its  song 
in  by-paths  where  even  the  backslider  dwells. 
Motives  appear  with  each  invention,  to  satisfy 
which  new  energies  are  called  into  being. 

The  stimulation  from  the  outside  of  which  the 
automobile  is  an  example  is  complemented  by 
changes  in  food  and  clothing  which  take  from 
meals  and  dress  their  emotional  significance. 
Meals  once  meant  mother's  pie  and  cake;  they 
bound  the  family  together  and  colored  the  ideas 
with  which  the  young  went  forth.  Dress  likewise 
meant  individual  taste.  Even  the  washtub  did  its 
share  to  give  each  family  peculiarities  which  were 
passed  on  from  generation  to  generation. 
Prom    pie    to    ice    cream    indicates    as    great 


278  MUD  HOLLOW 

a  change  as  from  fishing  to  automobiles.  From 
liquor  to  coffee  and  from  it  to  the  soda  fountain 
represent  a  similar  loss  of  individuality.  Drug 
stores  are  all  alike ;  coffee  with  a  similar  flavor  is 
made  in  huge  caldrons  in  each  restaurant. 
The  group  has  displaced  the  family  as  a  deter- 
miner of  character,  the  school  is  displacing  the 
church,  the  paper,  not  the  pulpit,  sways  the  multi- 
tude while  the  street  outbids  the  home  in  molding 
influence.  Everywhere  the  larger  group  is  dis- 
placing the  smaller  and  thus  giving  to  life  common 
forms  and  goals. 

These  are  not  new  facts.  They  have  often  been 
used  to  show  the  superiority  of  individuality, 
morality  and  conscience  as  standards  of  conduct. 
Too  little  has  been  done  to  study  how  conformity 
helps  in  a  rough  way  to  the  same  ends  and  does 
it  without  the  jar  and  conflict  which  morality  and 
conscience  generate.  Morality  and  conscience  are 
of  necessity  minority  attitudes.  They  are  resist- 
ances to  mass  tendencies.  We  cannot  therefore 
look  to  them  to  check  majorities  when  they  become 
conscious  of  their  power.  Conformity,  however, 
does  hold  them  in.  Its  high  levels  are  not  so  high 
as  the  motives  of  morality  create,  but  many  more 
are  influenced  by  them.  Conformity  thus  pro- 
duces a  better  average  than  morality.  It  holds 
the  low  above  their  natural  level  and  creates  for 
them  motives  which  force  the  adoption  of  com- 
munity standards.  Neither  morality  nor  con- 
science has  ever  checked  community  ^dce.  The 
low  have  been  left  on  their  depraved  level  where 
they  propagate  and  in  the  end  displace  their 
superiors.  Conformity  sees  little  above  itself,  but 
it  has  a  clear  vision  of  what  is  below.  With  its 
growth  comes  an  intense  opposition  of  the  in- 
ferior. The  scab,  the  Hun,  the  drunkard,  the  slum, 
filth  and  disease  get  an  emphasis  which  morality 
never  gave  them.    Nobody's  conscience  ever  kept 


SOCIAL  VALUES  279 

his  back  yard  clean.  For  those  below  there  is  a 
hell  but  no  reformatory.  Put  a  man  where  social 
tradition  cannot  guide  and  conscience  is  the  best 
monitor ;  but  under  the  complex  conditions  of  mod- 
ern life  it  is  merely  a  troublesome  reminder  of 
minor  delinquencies.  It  helps  individuals  to 
thwart  society,  it  may  raise  a  man  above  his  neigh- 
bors, but  for  these  reasons  it  is  out  of  harmony 
with  efforts  for  social  integration. 

The  pressure  that  integrates  is  not  conscience 
but  conformity.  Popular  tendencies  create  re- 
straints and  prompt  demands.  Whether  sex  and 
appetite  should  be  restrained  may  be  questionable 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  grind  of  conformity 
is  against  them.  Justice  and  equality  are  both 
altered  to  meet  new  demands.  Primitive  justice 
took  from  the  weak  and  rewarded  the  strong.  It 
did  this  because  it  emphasized  personal  attributes 
and  pmiished  those  who  lacked  them.  Justice  was 
thus  the  reward  for  having  character;  punish- 
ment, the  penalty  for  not  having  it.  Social  justice 
in  contrast  to  this  is  that  which  is  due  a  person 
regardless  of  his  character.  It  penalizes  char- 
acter for  the  benefit  of  the  mass.  It  takes  from 
the  grandchild  what  it  gave  to  the  grandparent. 
Creating  a  sympathy  for  those  below  the  normal, 
it  uses  income  not  to  reward  character  but  to  raise 
the  subnormal  to  normalcy.  Child  labor  laws  are 
an  evidence  of  this  and  so  is  the  preference  shown 
women.  The  minimum  wage  gives  to  the  weak 
more  than  they  earn  at  the  expense  of  their 
stronger  and  more  characterful  neighbors.  Social 
equality  is  an  equality  which  disregards  heredity, 
position  and  character.  It  frees  from  disabilities 
instead  of  creating  further  disabilities  for  the 
mass  by  the  elevation  of  the  few  above  them. 

To  give  to  those  who  have  not  and  even  deserve 
not  is  an  emotional  demand  which  voices  itself  as 
soon  as  objective  standards  displace  the  subjec- 


280  MUD  HOLLOW 

tive  codes  upon  which  character  building  depends. 
Evolution  makes  character  by  a  differentiation 
which  elevates  the  few  at  the  expense  of  the  mass. 
It  promotes  equality  and  social  justice  when  it 
compels  the  superior  to  use  his  talent  for  the 
benefit  of  those  below.  It  thus  restrains  liberty 
and  promotes  democracy.  These  two  principles 
battle  for  supremacy.  Between  there  may  be  com- 
promise but  no  conciliation.  Liberty  is  a  demand 
for  the  expression  of  character.  Its  standards  are 
subjective  and  its  voice  is  conscience.  They  are 
the  fruit  of  character  development  and  would  if 
successful  adjust  men  to  nature  without  the  inter- 
vention of  society.  In  contrast  to  this,  democracy 
does  not  rely  on  character  but  on  conformity  for 
its  success.  Democracy  is  majority  governed  by 
objective  fact.  It  is  effective  only  where  con- 
formity has  created  objective  standards  which  the 
masses  accept.  The  grind  of  conformity  must  pre- 
cede the  rise  of  democracy.  Majorities  cannot  ad- 
here except  through  the  rise  of  conformities  which 
all  accept.  A  democracy  thus  gets  its  force  from 
principles  which  subordinate  character  to  situa- 
tion and  atmosphere. 

In  democracy  men  may  differ  on  minor  but  not 
on  major  premises.  Minorities  are  outlaws  unless 
they  accept  the  axioms  of  majority  thought.  If  in 
a  prohibition  nation  a  man  contends  that  alcohol 
is  beneficial  he  is  an  outlaw,  but  if  he  thinks  the 
methods  of  enforcing  prohibition  are  ineffective 
his  opinion  is  entitled  to  respect.  It  would  not 
.block  conformity  to  alter  methods  of  enforcing 
law,  but  it  would  to  question  the  basis  on  which 
law  rests.  All  majority  condemnation  rests  on 
this  thought.  The  minority  can  think  as  it  pleases 
— there  is  no  ban  on  individual  thought — ^but  to 
organize  so  as  to  undermine  majority  conformity 
is  sin — the  punishment  of  which  is  outlawry.  A 
change  to  be  effective  must  permeate  majority 


INCOME  POWER  281 

opinion,  not  by  revolution,  but  by  some  alternation 
of  taste  and  inclination.  Minorities  are  effective 
only  as  they  change  fact:  when  they  do  they  be- 
come majorities  and  act  with  the  same  severity  as 
did  their  predecessors.  Each  new  epoch  creates 
more  conformity  and  intensifies  its  coercion. 

Which  is  the  more  desirable,  a  missionary  spirit 
which  elevates  the  low  to  one  level,  or  a  zeal  to 
elevate  oneself  to  some  super  position?  The  deci- 
sion is  not  so  one-sided  as  moralists  think.  It  is 
after  all  rather  a  problem  of  epochs  than  of 
absolute  right.  The  struggle  of  minorities  to  pre- 
serve themselves,  and  to  safeguard  their  stan- 
dards, of  necessity  preceded  the  epoch  of  making 
the  attained  a  common  heritage.  Perhaps  when 
culture  is  diffused  and  community  standards  are 
achieved  a  new  burst  of  minority  endeavor  mil  be 
needed  to  rise  above  community  life,  but  it  does 
seem  that  the  democratic  swing  of  the  pendulum 
must  go  much  farther  before  personal  motives 
can  successfully  reassert  themselves. 


IisrcoME  Power 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  American  society  in  a 
terminology  coming  from  the  past.  We  have  no 
aristocracy  in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  term. 
Our  rulers  are  the  people  whose  voice  is  the 
politician.  Nor  in  the  same  sense  have  we  a  labor- 
ing class.  The  American  of  the  old  stock  guides 
but  the  rough  manual  work  is  done  by  the  recent 
immigrant.  Still  less  is  there  a  middle  class  with 
manners  and  habits  of  its  own.  All  read  the  same 
papers,  buy  at  the  same  stores,  ride  in  motor  cars. 
The  great  social  gulf  is  between  the  homed  and 
the  dishomed.     These  dishomed  people,  whether 


282  MUD  HOLLOW 

of  American  stock  or  of  recent  arrivals,  form  a 
dissatisfied  element  whose  condition  breeds  opin- 
ions antagonistic  to  society.  While  the  line  is 
vague  in  economic  terms  their  incomes  are  below 
$800  a  year.  Neither  home  nor  health  can  be 
maintained  on  this  basis.  Overwork,  poor  food, 
inadequate  shelter,  bring  as  a  penalty  disease  and 
misery.  Sympathize  as  we  may  with  their  condi- 
tion, yet  no  real  danger  from  them  is  to  be  ap- 
prehended. This  class  does  not  in  America  per- 
petuate itself.  The  grind  of  factory  life,  long 
hours,  the  danger  from  accident  and  disease,  cut 
severely  into  their  numbers.  Poverty  and  vice 
are  housed  together ;  temptation  is  on  every  side, 
girls  go  astray,  and  boys  becoming  rough  are  unfit 
for  the  hard  tasks  the  fathers  performed.  Before 
the  war  it  took  about  a  million  immigrants  a  year 
to  fill  the  gaps  which  factory  life  made.  Without 
this  fresh  stock  crises  in  industry  would  soon 
arise.  AVhat  happened  during  the  war  where  the 
labor  market  was  depleted  would  become  a  chronic 
state  if  a  decision  were  made  to  limit  the  numbers 
which  rush  in  from  overstocked  Europe. 

This  view  does  not  match  with  alarmist  views. 
The  Malthusian  theory  of  population  is  taken  to 
show  the  constant  tendency  of  the  under  classes  to 
increase.  Yet  the  overpopulation  of  the  past  has 
been  due  to  country  conditions.  Cities  have  never 
held  their  o^vn  without  the  in-pouring  of  country 
recruits.  Now  a  rapid  depopulation  of  country 
districts  is  on  the  way,  a  fact  due  to  machinery 
which  on  the  farm  does  away  with  harvest  help. 
Those  who  were  employed  from  three  to  four 
months  only  are  now  not  needed  in  the  agricul- 
tural districts.  They  become  a  nuisance  and  in 
the  end  move  citvAvard.  Fanning  districts  are 
thus  losing  their  shiftless  population.  The  at- 
traction of  the  town  and  the  ease  of  support  by 
children  drawing  them  from  their  old  roadside. 


INCOME  POWER  283 

place  them  in  the  maelstrom  of  town  life.  Coun- 
try vice  goes  the  same  road.  Not  all  tlie  country 
districts  are  free  from  their  refuse  population  but 
the  process  of  extinction  is  at  work;  even 
now  has  gone  far  enough  to  prevent  mill  owners 
from  manning  their  factories  except  by  the  arrival 
of  fresh  hordes.  How  long  this  will  be  permitted 
is  hard  to  say.  Whether  we  move  rapidly  or  slow- 
ly a  world  crisis  will  come  when  a  new  social  order 
asserts  itself  in  Europe.  The  same  causes  work 
there  as  here  although  more  slowly.  The  break 
seems  not  far  distant  and  with  it  will  go  the  elab- 
orate biologic  argument  on  which  the  dreary  out- 
look of  the  present  rests. 

The  poverty  class  lack  budgetary  concepts. 
They  are  driven  by  fear,  not  induced  to  productive 
acts  by  the  hope  of  better  conditions.  They  thus 
live  from  hand  to  mouth,  spend  freely  while  money 
lasts  and  stoically  suffer  when  deprivation  occurs. 
There  is  a  fawning  respect  for  capital  since  they 
feel  and  are  taught  that  from  it  their  support 
comes.  Co-operative  action  thus  fails,  the  future 
is  disregarded  and  the  present  emphasized.  This 
is  said  not  to  depreciate  but  to  set  the  basis  of  the 
contrast  w^ith  the  class  above,  which  class  may  be 
called  the  income  class  in  contrast  to  the  poverty 
class.  With  them  there  is  little  fear  of  disease  or 
non-employment.  They  do  not  know  what  it  is  to 
be  without  food  or  home.  Somebody  cares  for 
them  in  childhood,  their  work  supports  in  man- 
hood ;  while  old  age  is  provided  for  by  some  insur- 
ance scheme.  They  live  in  the  present  fully  as 
much  as  do  the  poverty  class  but  their  amuse- 
ments, pleasures  and  comforts  come  regularly  as 
part  of  a  budget  which  an  ever-repeating  income 
enables  them  to  meet. 

This  class  does  not  save.  If  their  accounts 
were  squared  with  the  capitalistic  class  they  would 
show  a  deficit.    Nor  is  there  that  respect  for  or 


284  MUD  HOLLOW 

conscious  dependence  on  capital  which  the  poverty 
class  shows.  A  class  which  never  suffers  from 
the  lack  of  income,  which  always  has  its  budgetary 
wants  supplied,  thinks  that  nature  not  capital  is 
the  source  of  income  and  thus  regards  it  as  a 
right,  not  as  a  gift.  The  income  class  always 
growls  at  and  often  intensely  opposes  the  claims 
of  capital.  Many  have  tried  but  not  succeeded  in 
uniting  the  poverty  class  in  opposition  to  capital; 
while  the  income  class  not  only  opposes  the  claims 
of  capital,  but  to  an  increasing  degree  shifts  the 
burden  of  government  from  itself  to  property 
owners. 

I  emphasize  this  attitude  not  to  settle  the  claims 
of  any  class  but  to  get  at  psychic  diiference.  The 
poverty  class,  the  income  class  and  the  property 
class  have  each  a  psychology  distinct  enough  to 
create  intense  opposition.  The  lines  between  them 
are  clearly  marked  and  may  be  measured  in  in- 
come. A  budgetary  view  comes  when  a  fixed  in- 
come of  $1,000  is  attained.  Below  that  point  the 
psychology  of  poverty  persists  and  the  fear  of 
want  controls.  Crossing  the  line  does  not  mean 
an  immediate  change  of  view.  Opinion  always 
lies  behind  fact  yet  income  permits  such  a  radical 
change  in  expenditure  that  its  influence  is  soon 
felt.  Eager  longings  replace  fear,  spending  grows 
until  it  equals  income,  new  pleasures  crowd  out 
stable  wants,  all  of  which  work  a  reconstruction 
of  attitude,  giving  to  the  income  group  its  striking 
peculiarities.  It  is  not  yet  true  that  he  who  works 
gets  the  industrial  reward  but  it  is  true  that  only 
his  children's  children  will  survive  this  epoch. 

In  setting  this  lower  limit  of  comfort,  I  have 
not  in  mind  the  social  worker 's  view,  which  is  that 
of  fixing  a  decent  standard  of  life.  He  asks, 
''Ought  not  a  worker  to  have  $20  a  year  for  medi- 
cine and  $100  for  clothing?"  This  appeal  to  em- 
ployers or  to  the  public,  that  the  worker  should 


INCOME  POWER  285 

have  a  given  wage,  at  the  same  time  assumes  that 
the  employer  or  the  public  has  the  power  to  give 
or  withhold  what  is  asked.  This  is  a  wholesome, 
sympathetic  view,  but  it  predicates  a  helplessness 
on  the  part  of  the  worker  to  enforce  his  claim. 
What  I  mean  by  budgetary  income  is  that  which 
the  worker  has  some  power  to  demand.  His  money 
may  not  be  used  for  medicine  or  clothing,  but  in- 
stead for  what  his  moralizing  friends  would  high- 
ly disapprove.  Yet  if  he  wants  these  objects  and 
has  the  power  to  enforce  his  claims  his  budget 
will  contain  them  even  at  the  expense  of  useful 
objects.  Budgetary  power,  not  human  sympathy, 
is  what  sets  standards.  If  motors,  movies,  and 
candy  induce  men  to  work  effectively  they  will  be 
in  a  worker's  budget  and  to  him  society  must  give 
enough  to  pay  the  bills.  The  worker  must  have 
an  income  equal  to  his  survival  value. 

For  this  two  groups  of  traditions  are  necessary. 
Around  the  home  one  group  is  built;  the  other 
relates  to  industrial  activity.  Action  directed  to 
other  ends  may  have  a  high  moral  value,  yet  where 
these  are  supreme  life  dwindles.  Training  and 
habit  alone  can  create  and  sustain  a  surviving 
class.  With  all  transient  groups  eliminated  this 
element  becomes  distinct.  They  have  home,  health 
and  income,  each  of  which  furnishes  a  basis  of 
classification.  Their  incomes  range  from  $800  to 
$3,000  a  year.  Below  the  lower  limit  want  pov- 
erty and  vice  cut  their  swath,  above  the  upper 
limit  dominant  motives  lead  not  necessarily  to 
dissipation  but  inevitably  to  extinction.  Society 
is  thus  ground  on  both  surfaces,  between  which  a 
compact,  energetic  group  is  formed  whose  habits 
and  instincts  are  commonplace  yet  for  their  posi- 
tion beneficial.  Viewed  externally  from  manners, 
food  or  behavior  they  seem  like  one.  so  effective  i.s 
the  grind  to  which  they  submit.  Yet  internally 
they  may  be  readily  separated  into  two  groups. 


286  MUD  HOLLOW 

the  dividing  line  between  which,  measured  in  in- 
come, is  about  $2,000  a  year.  In  industrial  towns 
the  contrast  is  between  those  living  in  two-story 
and  those  in  three-story  houses.  In  crowded 
cities  the  one  group  is  in  rotten  tenement  dis- 
tricts, the  other  in  neat  apartment  houses.  The 
amusements  of  the  lower  group  are  baseball,  the 
movies  and  resorts  where  rest  and  excitement  are 
combined.  The  upper  group  attend  lectures,  sup- 
port churches  and  get  their  recreation  in  clubs, 
concerts,  athletics  and  summer  vacations.  In  edu- 
cation the  lower  group  attend  the  high  school  and 
are  thus  prepared  for  industrial  positions.  The 
contrasted  group  support  colleges  and  thus  attain 
an  efficiency  which  gives  industrial  control  and 
hence  the  major  financial  rewards. 

I  have  made  these  rather  obvious  divisions  not 
for  the  purpose  of  moralizing  about  income  nor 
from  hopes  of  improving  social  conditions.  My 
object  is  by  observation  to  determine  the  psychol- 
ogy of  each  group.  To  what  do  they  react  and 
in  what  way?  Contrasts  are  not  valuable  unless 
in  behavior  each  class  voice  its  w^ants  and  push 
for  their  realization  in  specific  ways.  Each  group 
has  its  own  emotional  life  and  its  own  way  of 
expressing  its  dissatisfaction.  The  dishomed  are 
revolutionary,  the  homed  are  contented ;  while  the 
leisure  class  are  plainly  reactionary.  In  revolu- 
tionary groups  the  stress  is  on  the  inequality  of 
income.  They  want  what  they  see  others  have  and 
strike  blindly  at  the  bars  which  exclude  it.  The 
leisure  class  are  equally  anxious  to  defend  their 
supremacy.  Emotionally,  they  are  controlled  by 
inferior  complexes  arising  out  of  the  danger  of 
their  position.  Before  the  menace  of  industrial 
revolution  arose  the^^  were  often  ardent  in  their 
desire  for  social  uplift  but  this  has  been  altered 
by  the  fear  of  a  disturbing  overthrow. 

There  is  little  hope  of  a  normal  expression  of 


INCOME  POWER  287 

emotion  from  either  of  these  classes.  Both  must 
be  expected  not  only  to  voice  distorted  views  but 
to  grow  more  dogmatic  in  their  expression.  Were 
they  the  surviving  class  or  did  tendencies  help 
to  strengthen  their  position,  all  that  social  pessi- 
mists allege  would  become  a  dismal  reality.  For- 
tunately both  classes  are  being  squeezed  by  evolu- 
tion.   Survival  is  not  theirs. 

If  from  these  static  classes  the  attention 
is  turned  to  the  surviving  class  the  effect 
is  at  first  confusing.  They  do  not  seem  to  have  a 
distinct  group  of  emotions.  Some  are  as  reac- 
tionary as  those  of  the  leisure  class,  having  the 
same  inferior  complexes  to  disturb  their  equili- 
brium. Others  are  mere  money-getters  with  no 
thought  but  to  climb  the  social  ladder.  A  third 
group,  revolting  from  traditional  lore,  have  joined 
in  revolutionary  agitation.  Yet,  after  all,  this  is 
merely  a  temporary  view.  The  class  is  too  new  to 
have  distinct  emotional  reactions,  though  the 
power  of  society  is  more  and  more  falling  into  its 
hands.  The  problem  is  not  with  the  members  of 
this  group  who  at  present  align  themselves  with 
older  groups,  but  what  others  will  do  and  think 
when  they  realize  thei"«"  powder.  An  economic  so- 
ciety is  ahead.  This  means  that  productive  power 
— not  culture — will  have  the  first  place  in  colleges 
and  that  efficiency  will  reign  without  dispute.  We 
shall  then  have  an  economic  democracy  which 
must  be  sharply  contrasted  with  political  democ- 
racy. Instead  of  numerical  decisions,  dominance 
will  be  the  result  of  a  mass  judgment  in  which 
classes  participate  not  according  to  their  number 
but  according  to  their  economic  power.  Socialistic 
schemes  are  based  on  the  thought  of  a  decision  in 
which  numbers  count.  This  will  be  displaced  by 
a  mass  judgment  voiced  by  those  with  economic 
power. 

The    interests    of    an    economic    society    are 


288  MUD  HOLLOW 

grouped  around  the  concept  of  income,  on  the  pos- 
session of  which  power  depends  just  as  in  earlier 
times  power  lay  in  the  possession  of  property. 
It  is  what  people  spend,  not  what  they  have,  that 
gives  them  position  and  on  w^hich  their  emotional 
demands  depend.  These  income  urges  are  gain- 
ing clearer  expression ;  as  they  do  the  opposition 
between  the  property  class  and  the  income  classes 
will  be  more  firmly  voiced.  The  arrogance  of 
property  will  be  replaced  by  the  arrogance  of  in- 
come, with  the  result  that  the  property  class  will 
suffer  the  deprivations  now  felt  by  other  groups. 
A  partial  consciousness  of  this  tendency  is 
already  visible.  Much  of  the  reactionary  ten- 
dency shown  since  the  World  War  has  this  source. 
It  will  clarify  this  view  to  compare  it  with  that 
of  socialistic  writers.  They  expect  a  mass  opinion 
to  be  formed  by  the  union  of  workers,  with  the 
result  that  the  cleavage  between  mass  and  class 
will  be  between  Labor  and  Capital.  To  my  mind 
socialism  and  distinctly  labor  movements  are  al- 
ready defeated.  The  mass  judgment  is  now  sharp- 
ly expressed  not  only  against  socialism  but  all 
labor  movements  which  use  force  or  excite  rebel- 
lion. Yet  the  break  between  income  and  property 
is  daily  becoming  more  evident  and  here  mass 
emotion  wall  be  on  the  side  of  income.  Americans 
are  bound  to  live  well  and  to  have  a  good  time  even 
if  the  old  economic  structure  is  wrecked.  If  this 
trend  is  accepted  the  seat  of  power  in  the  new 
society  and  the  method  of  its  distribution  can  be 
determined  with  accuracy  even  if  some  time  must 
elapse  before  the  ideal  of  an  economic  society  is 
realized.  The  power  of  income  is  not  to  be  meas- 
ured in  numerical  dollars  after  the  fashion  of 
equality  theorists.  A  man  with  $2,000  a  year 
has  more  than  double  the  emotional  influence  of 
those  with  half  the  income,  and  thus  exerts  a  far 
greater  effect  on  mass  judgment.    Tomorrow  the 


INCOME  POWER  289 

person  will  be  as  nothing;  his  class  everything. 
The  influence  of  a  class  is  in  proportion  to  the 
square  of  its  total  income. 

The  position  of  the  American  classes  in  a  purely 
economic  realm  would  be  somewhat  as  follows, 
assuming  as  at  present  a  hundred-million  popula- 
tion and  sixty  billions  of  annual  income. 

Numbers  in     Income  in  Relative 

Millions  Billion  Economic 

Dollars  Power 

Leisure  class  5  15  225 

Upper  income  class..  20  30  900 

Lower  income  class..  30  10  100 

The  dishomed 40  5  25 

Paupers,  etc 5  0  0 

This  table  is  not  made  for  the  purpose  of  voic- 
ing the  claims  of  justice  nor  to  assert  that  eco- 
nomic forces  are  supreme.  It  merely  shows  that 
the  upper  income  class  is  destined  to  have  emo- 
tional control  and  that  its  mass  judgment  will  be 
coercive.  Two  groups  of  rights  are  set  up  in 
opposition  to  its  claim:  equality  rights,  and  prop- 
erty rights.  Equality  rights  have  a  political  origin 
and  are  brought  into  economics  by  writers  of 
political  antecedents.  They  assume  a  claim  on 
income  based  on  personality  instead  of  productive 
power.  Such  claims  have  no  valid  basis  and  can- 
not be  enforced  against  mass  judgment,  w^hose 
force  lies  not  in  numbers  but  in  income  power. 

Property  rights  have  an  historical  basis  and 
once  had  a  validity.  At  first  they  rested  on  the 
belief  that  property  was  the  basis  of  peace.  Then 
it  was  narrowed  to  the  thought  that  wealth  arose 
from  the  productivity  of  land.  While  now  the 
basis  is  assumed  to  be  in  the  fact  that  Capital  has 
a  productive  power  distinct  from  and  antecedent 
to  Labor.  Each  of  these  claims  has  little 
validity  against  the  modern  mass  belief  that  in- 
come belongs  to  those  who  produce  it.    Property 


290  MUD  HOLLOW 

income  then  becomes  an  income  by  courtesy,  and 
falls  into  the  same  class  as  charity  to  those  incap- 
able of  earning  adequate  income.  I  say  '4ncome 
by  courtesy,"  not  to  disparage,  but  to  indicate 
the  lack  of  power  of  its  holders  to  inforce  their 
claims.  That  the  claim  is  one  of  courtesy  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  the  courts  and  public  advocates 
rest  their  public  position  on  the  protection  of 
widows  and  orphans  or  on  the  fact  that  most 
stocks  and  bonds  are  held  by  small  holders.  The 
doctrine  that  capital  is  the  result  of  saving  has  a 
social  not  economic  basis,  assuming  as  it  does 
that  society  has  two  social  groups  with  different 
instincts  and  heredity,  so  that  the  few  who  save 
perform  a  needed  service  for  the  many  whose  mo- 
tives are  transient  and  fickle.  This  sort  of  biology 
is  the  only  remaining  support  of  the  old  view.  An 
altered  psychologic  attitude  brings  all  workers  to 
harmony.  There  is  no  serious  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  the  mass  judgment  that  to  the  worker  belongs 
the  wdiole  product  of  industry.  Courtesy  and 
charity  will  always  play  a  part  in  income  distribu- 
tion. Refined  dependency  is  not  in  danger  of 
losing  its  support  nor  will  sympathy  for  the  in- 
efficient cease  to  fill  the  chests  of  benevolent  socie- 
ties. But  effective  power  these  outside  classes  do 
not  have.  Triumphant  mass  judgment  will  crush 
and  reward  as  it  pleases  with  no  obstacle  but  its 
own  generosity.  There  are  no  economic  classes 
to  dispute  for  the  industrial  product.  The  choice 
is  either  survival  with  the  mass  or  potential  elimi- 
nation, in  the  face  of  which  neither  property  rights 
nor  equality  rights  can  offer  resistance. 

With  these  facts  as  a  basis  the  pressure  of  mass 
opinion,  can  be  readily  measured.  It  mil  be  ex- 
erted against  two  relatively  helpless  classes,  each 
of  which  will  suffer  the  grind  of  elimination.  The 
burden  of  taxation  will  be  placed  on  the  rich.  The 
burden  of  labor  will  be  placed  on  the  poor.    The 


INCOME  POWER  291 

income  class  will  free  itself  from  both  burdens  and 
gain  by  each  increase  of  mass  pressure.  It  is  said 
that  hve  million  workers  are  out  of  employment 
at  present.  Who  are  theyf  They  are  rela- 
tively the  poor  and  inefficient.  In  numbers  they 
make  not  more  than  ten  per  cent,  of  the  working 
population.  From  the  burden  of  non-work  nine 
out  of  ten  American  workers  are  practically  free. 
They,  their  wives  and  their  children  feel  no  pres- 
sure of  want  even  in  hard  times.  The  stores 
scarcely  know  a  change  in  patronage.  The  movies 
attract  increasing  multitudes,  motor  cars  increase 
in  number  and  the  streets  are  full  of  well-groomed 
people.  It  is  not  they  but  the  poverty  class  on 
whom  the  burden  of  unemployment  always  falls. 
At  the  same  time  the  dominant  class  are  escap- 
ing the  burden  of  taxation,  placing  it  to  an  in- 
creasing degree  on  property.  Under  $2,000  a  year 
no  married  man  now  pays  taxes.  What  those  be- 
low the  $5,000  level  pay  does  not  equal  their  ex- 
penditure for  motor  cars,  sugar,  tobacco  or  even 
the  movies.  They  are  thus  practically  tax-free 
and  will  in  the  near  future  increase  their  advan- 
tage. Taxation  is  borne  by  one-tenth  of  the  popu- 
lation— ^while  the  burden  of  unemplojaiient  falls 
on  another  tenth,  those  in  poverty.  Four-fifths 
of  the  American  people  are  thus  in  a  stable  posi- 
tion, free  both  from  want  and  from  taxation.  If 
they  seriously  felt  either  of  these  burdens  they 
would  be  aroused  from  their  political  lethargy. 
Why  should  they  bother  with  government,  public 
morality  or  with  the  world,  when  their  income 
appears  as  regularly  as  the  rising  sun?  If  they 
awake  it  will  not  be  from  the  dismal  forebodings 
of  moral  and  political  misanthropes  but  from  some 
internal  urge  which  their  own  condition  evokes. 
Wants  grow  more  rapidly  than  the  means  of  satis- 
fying them.  From  this  arises  the  emotion  on 
"which  world  redemption  depends. 


292  MUD  HOLLOW 

10 

NOEMALCY 

To  most  people  the  normal  is  a  statistical  aver- 
age, the  mean  between  the  extremes  statistical 
tables  show.  The  average  Hungarian,  Slav  or 
Jew  becomes  the  normal  of  his  race  or  class.  The 
American  is  the  hundred  per  cent,  tliird-genera- 
tion  stock,  from  which  average  the  difference 
between  American  and  foreigners  is   estimated. 

/  In  its  other  meaning  the  normal  is  the  person 
who  has  risen  to  a  full  development  of  his  inherent 
possibilities.     We  inherit  from  our  parents  cer- 

i  tain  innate  tendencies  which  force  us  to  recapitu- 
late the  past  history  of  the  race.  If  we  repeat 
fully  this  ancestral  history  and  reach  the  maturity 
and  development  these  inherent  urges  excite — 
then  we  are  normal.  The  normal  neither  demands 
nor  postulates  anything  new  but  it  does  include 
a  revival  and  accentuation  of  all  through  which 
the  race  has  passed. 

The  subnormal  are  those  who  have  not  reached 
this  full  development.  There  has  been  a  thwart- 
ing or  suppression,  the  result  of  w'hich  being  that 
some  stage  has  been  omitted  or  not  reached.  The 
cause  may  be  vironal  or  mental ;  it  may  be  disease, 
poor  food  or  uncleanliness ;  it  may  be  social  or 
economic;  but  whatever  it  is  diverting  heredity 
from  its  normal  channel,  it  has  marred  the  victim 
in  a  readily  recognized  and  unremovable  manner. 
If  all  human  traits  were  inherited  and  the  viron 
were  without  influence  these  repressions  and  di- 
versions would  not  matter.  We  still  could  say 
that  men  are  as  they  are  because  of  inherited 
forces  which  bring  each  one  so  far  but  no  farther. 
Current  psychology  lays  too  much  emphasis  on 
inferior  complexes  to  foster  such  a  claim.    Men 


NOEMALCY  293 

even  in  the  best  circles  are  far  below  the  level 
heredity  permits.  Their  health  and  culture  tend 
to  keep  them  from  acquiring  a  full  possession  of 
their  faculties.  This  is  easy  to  see  when  their 
pet  hobbies  are  touched  or  when  their  class  inter- 
ests are  at  stake.  If  this  is  true  of  them,  still 
more  is  the  ordinary  citizen  repressed  and  dis- 
torted by  his  bad  food,  hard  work,  rigid  traditions 
and  sacrificial  religion.  The  average  recruit,  they 
tell  us,  was  not  in  mental  growth  above  a  fifteen- 
year-old  boy.  What  maturity  is  and  what  sound 
health  produces  he  will  never  know.  Early  senil- 
ity and  a  toothless  old  age  are  about  all  he  can 
expect. 

Still  cruder  than  this  is  the  social  estimate  of 
our  immigrants.  That  they  average  with  their 
brothers  left  behind  may  be  admitted,  but  ages  of 
oppression,  repression  and  depression  have  never 
let  their  natural  tendencies  assert  themselves. 
They  become  American  not  by  inherited  changes 
but  by  good  food,  homes,  bathtubs,  tooth- 
brushes and  fair  wages.  These  acquired  condi- 
tions must  be  fulfilled  before  their  heritable  traits 
can  be  measured.  I  do  not  say  that  the  south 
European  races  are  in  inheritance  like  the  north- 
ern races,  but  that  what  these  traits  are  is  dis- 
coverable only  where  the  repressions  and  distor- 
tions of  the  ages  are  removed.  From  what  we 
know  they  are  like  the  northern  races  in  their 
desire  for  material  improvement.  Jews  and  Slavs 
do  not  refuse  bathtubs  nor  the  use  of  toothbrushes. 
They  enjoy  sweets,  like  the  movies  and  take  kindly 
to  the  automobile.  Every  peasant  of  Europe  is 
land-hungry,  wants  independence  and  is  willing 
to  work  if  properly  compensated.  They  strive  for 
the  same  political  freedom  and  have  the  same  race 
ambition.  They  readily  take  to  frontier  ways  even 
if  they  lack  a  keen  appreciation  of  social  and 
literary  values. 


294  MUD  HOLLOW 

I  mention  these  facts  to  answer  the  question  as 
to  what  it  is  to  be  normal.  The  reply  seems  to 
be  that  it  would  be  much  above  the  present  social 
level  if  current  degradation  were  avoided.  We 
need  not  fear  a  fall  in  civilization  from  any  re- 
placement of  native  stock  by  European  races. 
There  might  be  a  difference  in  what  we  would 
become  but  not  in  what  we  are.  There  is  a  wide- 
spread feeling  that  out  of  the  older  stock  the 
higher  elements  of  a  new  race  will  come.  Li  these 
surmises  I  shall  not  indulge.  Under  what  condi- 
tions genius  arises  neither  I  nor  others  know. 
Science  has  not  gone  that  far,  but  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  the  average  American  even  of  the  third 
or  fourth  generation  does  not  manifest  many 
traits  which  can  be  put  under  this  head.  We  are, 
under  good  conditions,  a  solid,  persistent  race  with 
traits  common  to  all  European  races  but  not  much 
more.  We  are  thus  capable  of  an  uplift  to  a  nor- 
mal level :  we  can,  if  we  will,  remove  the  complexes 
which  degrade  our  standards  but  we  should  not 
assume  too  easily  that  so  doing  will  produce  a 
race  of  giants  or  give  us  art,  literature  and  science. 
They  are  not  normal  products,  but  rest  on  condi- 
tions yet  to  be  discovered.  Eugenics  can  make 
men  normal  but  it  will  not  make  gods. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  state  the  difference  in  pre- 
mise between  the  two  rival  theories  even  if  a 
decisive  proof  of  either  be  absent.  One  group 
avers  that  race  progress  depends  on  the  appear- 
ance of  some  new  trait  in  exceptional  persons  or 
in  a  favored  class.  Just  how  it  arises  they  do  not 
tell  us,  but  if  it  appears  and  is  fostered,  a  race  or 
class  arise  having  this  superiority  which  becomes 
general  through  inheritance,  when  the  inferior 
class  are  exterminated.  This  is  a  theory  of  breed- 
ing and  survival — while  the  opposing  theory  is 
one  of  effort.  The  new  trait  comes  not  from  above 
or  without  but  from  the  effort  of  normal  people  to 


NORMALCY  295 

reach  a  higher  plane  by  using  their  faculties  in 
new  ways.  The  hand,  they  would  say,  was  not 
made  perfect  by  breeding  but  by  the  efforts  of 
millions  of  defective  monkeys  to  increase  their 
power  of  grasping.  Each  new  generation  did  a 
little  better,  which  in  the  end  made  the  human 
hand  and  as  a  by-product  the  human  intellect. 
The  first  element  in  progress  is  thus  a  motive. 
There  must  be  some  end  which  an  inferior 
person  desires.  His  unsuccessful  pushing 
starts  a  variation  which  in  distant  descendants 
becomes  a  fixed  trait.  Do  wish  and  will  precede 
and  force  inheritance  and  thus  become  its  cause  ? 
or  must  men  vary,  breed  and  through  eliminating 
struggle,  survive,  before  wish  and  will  gain  a 
footing? 

The  reader  should  see  the  force  of  this  issue 
even  if  he  cannot  decide  it.  Perhaps  todo  this 
as  good  a  way  as  any  is  to  compare  American  life 
as  presented  by  two  recent  books.  Sinclair  Lewis 
has  in  Main  Street  given  what  he  regards  as  the 
picture  of  a  typical  American  village.  Mrs. 
Parker  has  in  her  A^nerican  Idyl  thrown  on  the 
screen  a  picture  of  an  exceptional  family  life. 
Are  Mr.  Lewis's  characters  normal  individuals 
or  are  their  inherited  traits  distorted  and 
suppressed?  Are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parker  excep- 
tional supernormal  individuals  or  are  they  merely 
normal  persons  freed  by  good  fortune  from  the 
scars  and  blemishes  of  their  fellows? 

It  is  not  profitable  to  deny  that  the  characters 
presented  by  Mr.  Lewis  are  to  be  found  in  every 
American  village,  yet  it  is  worth  while  to  ask 
what  is  in  the  background  of  the  picture  he  pre- 
sents. Something  is  wrong  with  Gopher  Prairie, 
]but  is  it  in  the  character  of  its  people  or  in  some 
external  pall  which  overhangs  the  town  ?  A  fertile 
soil  and  good  crops  should  have  produced  a  cheer- 
fulness which  Gopher  Prairie  lacks.     Everybody 


296  MUD  HOLLOW 

walks  and  talks  as  if  suffering  from  the  rickets. 
The  town  is  living  on  but  half  of  what  it  pro- 
duces, and  the  worse  half  at  that.  Some  drain 
saps  the  town's  vitality.  It  seems  more 
like  the  relapse  after  a  local  boom  than  Like  a  nor- 
mal village.  What  the  trouble  is  Mr.  Lewis  does 
not  tell.  Where  is  the  octopus!  It  may  be  the 
elevator  extortions,  the  railroads,  the  land-grab- 
bers or  any  of  the  dozen  other  afflictions  which 
fasten  themselves  on  the  nation's  life.  National 
traits  are  suppressed  and  distorted  in  the  same 
way  by  all  these  disorders.  On  the  surface  are  a 
lot  of  inferior  complexes  which  do  not  represent 
normal  tendencies.  No  matter  how  widespread 
the  evil,  yet  the  product  in  character  is  an  arti- 
ficial result  which  cannot  be  improved  save  in  the 
removal  of  external  evils.  What  Gopher  Prairie 
lacks  is  not  the  high  traits  which  eugenists  desire 
but  the  ordinary  animal  traits  which  all  creatures 
show  when  their  viron  is  fitting.  The  lack  of  buoy- 
ancy, curiosity  and  spirit-of-adventure  is  an  ani- 
mal depression  and  not  the  deficiency  of  inherit- 
ance. Gopher  Prairie  needs  someone  with  the 
wrath  of  God,  not  a  eugenic  prophet.  A  town  can- 
not be  normal  until  it  consumes  all  it  produces.  It 
cannot  ship  eut  its  grain  and  have  the  cars  come 
back  empty.  Push  and  strive  must  be  its  motto 
even  if  it  gets  nowhere.  Who  can  push  without  a 
full  stomach,  a  bathtub  and  a  toothbrush? 

In  the  way  in  which  Gopher  Prairie  shows  what 
changes  in  behavior  the  suppression  of  animal 
traits  produces,  so  the  example  of  the  Parkers^ 
illustrate  what  their  free  expression  evokes.  Mrs. 
Parker  puts  a  Greek  toga  on  Carlton.  The 
picture  in  the  front  of  the  book  has  a  pale,  con- 
sumptively intellectual  cast  that  illy  fits  the  robust 
ruddy-faced  original  whose  hair  never  lay  smooth 
in  the  manner  presented.  Carlton  was  not  a 
Greek  nor  a  god.  He  struck  hard,  often  got  hurt  in 


NORMALCY  297 

the  encounter,  but  he  never  flinched,  took  failure 
in  a  good-natured  way  and  at  the  next  encounter 
struck  harder  blows.  In  modern  terms  Carl- 
ton was  wish  rather  than  thought.  What  he 
wished  he  willed;  and  never  yielded  to  an  impos- 
sibility until  it  was  tested  and  not  even  then  until 
he  was  knocked  flat.  No  one  with  other  spirit 
would  have  tried  so  many  ways  to  reach  desired 
goals  and  recovered  so  quickly  from  consistent 
failure.  He  lived  recklessly,  spent  as  he  earned 
and  rushed  after  each  new  wish  even  before  the 
old  one  had  expired.  The  rush  and  the  push  were 
what  excited  the  admonition  of  his  friends  more 
than  the  judgment  with  which  he  acted.  The 
book  describes  his  trips  in  a  realistic  fashion.  He 
struck  the  line  hard,  used  up  his  energy  and  fell  in 
a  way  fitting  his  active  career.  He  was  thus 
worthy  of  the  praise  his  wife  bestows,  yet  he  was 
not  a  genius  but  a  typical  western  boy  freed  from 
the  disabilities  from  which  Gopher  Prairie  suf- 
fers. What  the  Parkers  did  is  not  so  strange  nor 
so  exalted  as  it  seems.  A  million  young  American 
couples  could  do  likewise  if  they  shook  off  the 
irresolution  which  village  depression  creates. 
Animal  virtues  we  all  have. 

A  million  struggles  made  the  hand,  a  million 
bites  made  teeth.  Millions  died  on  the  road  before 
the  great  ends  of  animal  life  were  attained,  but  the 
I  wish  for  betterment  persisted  and  in   the   end 
I  reached  ample  fulfillment.     One  Carlton  Parker 
I  cannot  fulfill  the  great  human  w^ish  for  fuller  life, 
but  a  million — ^knocking  hard,  courageous  in  fail- 
ure, ever  trying  the  impossible  until  it  yields — 
will  take  from  life  its  handicaps  and  even  modify 
self  until  it  fits  the  viron  for  wliich  all  yearn.  We 
do  not  need  genius  nor  a  super  race  to  reach  what 
wish  postulates.    It  will  come  through  a  freeing 
of  forces  which, ^heredity  has  long  since  implanted. 
Only  yesterday  1  saw  a  man  in  rags  who  for 


298  MUD  HOLLOW 

forty  years  had  toiled  diligently  on  a  fertile  farm. 
His  heredity  was  as  pure  as  mine.  It  is  my  good 
fortune  always  to  have  more  than  I  earn.  Parents 
and  education  have  given  me  what  to  this  toiler 
is  denied.  Men  cannot  thrive  under  exploitation 
any  more  than  they  can  burdened  with  fever  or 
tuberculosis.  They  need  not  a  new  heredity,  but 
the  removal  of  complexes  and  the  fun  of  spend- 
ing what  they  earn.  The  mass  of  Americans 
belong  to  those  whom  religious  censors  held  in 
subjection  as  long  as  they  could.  This  common 
stock  has  come  up  wherever  it  has  had  opportun- 
ity. Men  thrive  who  would  have  been  drunkards 
or  horse  jockeys  had  they  lived  in  New  England 
a  century  ago.  The  new  conditions  have  made 
them  otherwise,  not  any  alteration  in  heredity. 

Behold  the  millions  we  might  uplift  if  American 
handicaps  were  removed.  When  they  rise  it  will 
not  be  because  of  the  much-heralded  super  man 
but  because  these  millions  strike  their  heads 
against    seemingly   unremovable    obstacles    until 

I  they  yield.  It  is  the  wish  not  the  germ  cell  which 
determines  action.  Seek  and  ye  shall  find,  knock 
and  it  will  open.  A  good  old  rule  is  still  the  only 
guide  to  achievement.  For  salvation  w^e  need 
animal  traits.    Only  the  corn-fed  reach  Paradise. 


11 

Joe  Gannett 

The  thought  blend  thus  far  described  is  the 
effect  of  the  commingling  of  European  stocks  un- 
der new  conditions  by  which  established  charac- 
ters are  tested  and  reshaped.  It  is  an  upper  class 
transformation  rather  than  a  lower  class  rise. 
A  civilization,  however,  is  measured  by  the  uplift 
of  depressed  classes  to  upper  class  freedom.  The 


JOE  GANNETT  299 

common  clay  must  get  a  metallic  ring.  Of  this 
rise  the  Gannett  family  is  a  notable  example.  Joe 
Gannett,  the  father,  as  a  mere  lad  answered  Lin- 
coln's first  call;  he  also  walked  up  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  behind  Sherman  at  the  close.  Unlike  most 
veterans  he  had  never  received  a  scratch  nor  a 
medal.  Instead  of  talking  of  heroic  deeds  he  had 
picked  up  every  funny  tale  of  camp  life  from  the 
Mississippi  to  the  Potomac.  His  stories  were  a 
refreshing  relief  from  the  glorious  recitals  of  his 
sober  friends.  They  laughed — but  he  never  be- 
came a  hero  in  their  eyes.  Joe  shot  the  rebels  as 
he  did  a  squirreL  He  had  no  notion  that  he  did  a 
noble  deed  but  merely  thought  of  his  markmanship. 
After  the  battle  he  would  trade  coffee  for  tobacco 
and  got  to  like  the  people  he  shot  at.  They  were 
not  the  Huns  his  neighbors  were  fond  of  imagin- 
ing, but  a  square  lot  when  it  came  to  playing  cards 
or  helping  the  wounded  across  the  lines.  Joe  had 
violated  many  an  order  about  not  having  inter- 
course with  the  enemy  and  thus  he  knew  South- 
erners to  be  a  different  race  from  what  the  home 
folk  imagined.  But  to  talk  this  way  after  the  war 
was  criminal,  as  much  so  as  to  praise  a  German 
at  present.  His  neighbors  decided  that  Joe  was  a 
rebel  at  heart  and  added  this  to  his  many  delin- 
quencies. How  could  anyone  tell  amusing  stories 
of  sacred  things;  how  could  he  make  fun  of  his 
generals ;  how  could  he  laugh  about  breaking  mili- 
tary law  without  being  at  heart  irreligious,  im- 
moral and  even — this,  however,  was  said  in  whis- 
pers— an  atheist  *? 

Everybody  knew  just  what  was  going  to  happen. 
He  was  held  up  as  an  example  for  boys  to  avoid. 
His  horoscope  told  of  drunkenness,  gambling, 
licentiousness  and  numerous  depravities  of  the 
Scriptural  order.  Some  evidence  of  God's  wrath 
was  sure  to  fall  on  such  a  man.  If  not  the  sores 
of  Job,  at  least  the  potter's  field  would  receive 


300  MUD  HOLLOW 

his  bones.  In  spite  of  all  this  prediction,  nothing 
happened.  Joe  never  got  drunk;  nor  slid  out  of 
town  for  a  spree;  his  horse-racing  propensities 
did  not  degenerate  into  gambling.  He  might  bet 
on  a  horse  but  he  withheld  his  cash  from  Wall 
Street  speculation.  His  barns  were  painted;  the 
fences  in  repair ;  the  house  and  yard  a  model ;  even 
the  woodpile  was  larger  and  better  chopped  than 
in  the  good  old  McCleary  days.  Joe  apparently 
had  no  conscience ;  he  always  did  what  he  wanted. 
Money  flew  but  it  was  replaced  by  good  crops. 
His  neighbors  would  not  race  horses  but  they 
liked  to  visit  Joe's  stables  and  talk  of  the  horses 
as  the  ornament  of  the  town.  They  liked  what  Joe 
did  but  did  not  dare  do  it.  Their  consciences 
thwarted  their  desires,  while  his  had  become 
friends. 

Yet  everybody  wondered  how  anyone  could  be 
so  near  brimstone  and  not  slip  over.  He  and 
Janet  got  on  amazingly.  She  lectured  his  extrav- 
agance and  took  especial  delight  in  lauding  Mc- 
Cleary virtues;  but  he  could  turn  their  edge  by 
praising  her  cooking.  She  w^as  so  full  of  Mc- 
Cleary superiority  that  any  reference  to  it  brought 
a  relenting  smile.  When  she  wore  to  church  the 
best  fur  suit  the  town  had  seen,  she  excused  her- 
self by  saying  that  against  her  expostulations 
Joe  would  buy  it  and  she  did  not  see  the  sin  in 
wearing  what  was  already  paid  for.  When  they 
went  to  the  city  she  spent  her  time  scolding  Joe's 
spending.  ' '  Just  think  of  it, ' '  she  said  to  a  neigh- 
bor, *'we  paid  six  dollars  for  a  room  when  we 
might  have  had  one  at  the  Parker  House  for  three, 
but  Joe  said  he  w^ould  not  be  seen  with  his  wife 
in  such  a  place.  We  paid  five  dollars  for  seats 
at  the  opera  and  Joe  gave  a  whole  dollar  to  a 
waiter  at  dinner.  Why,  that  would  have  kept  a 
missionary  for  a  week ;  men  are  so  stubborn  and 
careless,  women  so  helpless;  we'll  die  in  the  poor 


JOE  GANNETT  301 

house  yet.  That  is  what  Aunt  Sophie  always  said ; 
Joe  will  bring  us  there  if  he  can. ' '  Yet  the  family 
throve;  unneeded  extravagance  each  year,  but 
then  for  some  unknown  reason  the  McCleary 
acres  increased  their  produce  more  rapidly  than 
the  expenses  grew;  so  more  horses  and  better 
stock  came  to  keep  the  balance.  Janet  scrutinized 
the  bank  account  to  see  there  were  no  hidden 
expenses  but  she  never  found  anything  more  than 
cigar  bills.  Joe  was  open ;  what  he  paid  she  knew, 
and  got  what  satisfaction  she  could  by  scolding. 
In  spite  of  her  moral  protests  he  dragged  her  into 
whatever  he  did.  If  he  showed  off  his  trained 
horses  to  the  admiring  multitude,  she  was  in  the 
seat  beside  him  trying  as  hard  as  she  could  not 
to  enjoy  herself.  She  protested  at  thus  being 
made  an  accomplice  but  he  noted  she  never  began 
to  object  until  the  race  or  parade  was  finished. 

Such  was  Joe  at  home.  In  town  he  was  at  the 
head  of  everything.  When  anything  was  to  be 
done  Joe  was  called  on.  He  was  not  good  enough 
to  be  deacon  but  church  finance  was  in  his  hands. 
He  could  raise  more  money  in  a  day  than  the 
deacons  in  a  year.  When  the  Christian  Associa- 
tion failed  to  rid  the  town  of  saloons  he  got  him- 
self elected  constable.  The  saloon  keepers  went 
and  stayed.  He  had  no  respect  for  law.  His 
methods  were  direct ;  he  laughed  at  talk  of  prose- 
cution. So  he  kept  things  straight,  not  that  he 
cared  much  but  he  liked  public  approval.  What 
he  did  he  knew  others  would  like  to  do  and  would 
have  done  but  for  the  bites  of  conscience.  Having 
instinctive  regard  for  public  opinion,  he  was  al- 
ways ahead  of  it.  Hence  his  neighbors  secretly 
admired  his  ways  but  fearing  a  phantom  lost  their 
way  trying  to  avoid  it.  The  moral  rocks  on  which 
they  stood  were  sinking,  yet  they  could  not  trust 
themselves  to  earth.  Its  roses  looked  tempting 
but  has  not  every  rose  a  sting? 


302  MUD  HOLLOW 

This  condition  is  not  so  unreal  as  it  seems.  The 
past  is  shaded  by  certain  glories  which  falsify  the 
perspective.  There  were  a  few  people  who  came 
on  the  Mayflower;  the  Puritans  were  real  beings 
but  they  are  not  chiefly  our  ancestors;  if  so,  the 
blood  has  been  tainted  by  that  of  the  common 
herd.  Boston  is  not  the  place  to  find  Puritan  oif- 
spring.  The  Revolution  drove  out  orthodox  re- 
spectability and  left  the  mob  in  control.  These 
were  later  comers  of  a  very  common  stock,  bron- 
cos, slackers,  wood  rats,  knock-kneed  madonnas, 
discarded  spinsters.  Every  deacon  had  a  seraglio 
in  the  loft  above  the  kitchen.  Women  had  but 
two  choices— to  die  in  child-bed  and  to  wink  at 
their  husbands'  indiscretions.  Rapid  breeding 
made  these  groups  numerically  dominant ;  revolu- 
tion gave  them  political  power ;  but  of  the  fighting 
spirit  they  had  little.  Occasionally  they  formed 
a  militia  for  home  defense  but  as  a  rule  they  let 
the  w^orld  jog  as  it  would.  The  patriots  talked  but 
let  others  fight.  The  socially  prominent  were  pro- 
British  rather  than  honestly  Tory.  Surviving, 
they  were  also  the  ancestry  of  much  of  our  present 
American  nobility.  There  were  plenty  of  patriots 
in  Boston  when  the  British  were  in  New  York  but 
only  subdued  talk  when  the  redcoats  were  near. 
Think  of  three  million  people  who  w^ere  never  able 
to  muster  twenty  thousand  soldiers  in  a  single 
battle.  Serbia  did  twenty  times  better  in  the  late 
war.  Most  of  our  fighting  was  done  by  foreigners 
or  recent  immigrants.  The  Scotch  and  the  Irish 
were  alone  in  their  opposition  to  England.  They 
had  principle  at  stake  rather  than  the  appropriat- 
ing of  tea  cargoes.  The  battle  of  freedom  was 
fought  not  so  much  in  America  as  in  the  English 
Parliament. 

If  this  common  herd  is  followed  to  their  homes 
the  causes  of  their  degeneration  become  apparent. 
America   had   a   super-abundance   of   the   crude 


JOE  GANNETT  303 

necessities  but  in  all  else  she  was  lacking.  Cheap 
food  makes  lazy  folk.  Nobody  worked  over  two 
days  a  week.  The  rest  of  the  time  they  loafed, 
raced  horses  and  drank  rum.  Between  the  upper 
and  the  common  herd  there  was  a  gulf  as  marked 
as  between  the  aristocracy  of  Russia  and  its  peo- 
ple. Of  the  former  much  could  be  said,  but  they, 
like  the  Russian  aristocrats,  were  driven  to  for- 
eign parts.  Civilization  thus  drops  back  to  its 
primitive  base ;  not  depravity,  but  crudeness  pre- 
vails. 

This  is  said  not  to  be  sensational  but  to  show 
the  base  on  which  the  American  uplift  rests.  If 
we  were  all  descendants  of  the  Puritans,  if  the 
youth  of  the  Revolutionary  period  had  been 
modern  patriots,  if  sobriety  and  industry  had  pre- 
vailed, from  then  to  now  must  reveal  a  rapid 
descent.  But  if  in  the  new  America  crude  and 
vicious  elements  dominated,  the  uplift  can  be 
measured  by  its  striking  features.  The  mob  had 
to  have  its  emotions,  tastes  and  impulses  modified. 
On  these  new  forces  the  redemption  of  America 
depended.  The  Methodist  missionaries  were  the 
first  to  see  the  peril  and  to  apply  a  remedy. 
Their  hell-fire  may  have  been  unreal  but  its  ap- 
peal was  eifective.  The  doctrine  of  instant  con- 
version opened  the  way  to  marked  changes  in 
character.  Of  this  route  thousands  took  advan- 
tage. They  turned  suddenly  from  riotous  livers 
to  sober  citizens  and  made  good  in  this  adventure. 
To  aid  this  movement  came  the  opening  of  the 
West.  Improved  transportation  brought  the  set- 
tler commodities  which  modified  his  taste  and 
gave  a  market  for  the  grain  which  before  was 
turned  into  whisky.  Alterations  in  consumption 
gave  new  articles  a  definite  superiority  and  this 
checked  the  tendency  to  improvident  living. 
About  sugar  a  new  diet  sprang  up  more  satisfy- 
ing than  the  bitter,  salted  foods  which  fit  liquor 


304  MUD  HOLLOW 

consumption.  The  country  has  been  freed  from 
the  liquor  menace  not  by  a  moral  movement  but 
by  the  steady  pressure  of  new  wants.  Drinking 
thus  came  naturally  under  a  ban  through  the 
broadening  of  choices,  making  abstinence  the 
accepted  not  the  unusual  thing.  The  pressure  of 
conformity  thus  keeps  the  multitude  within 
bounds. 

These  tendencies  were  strengthened  by  indus- 
trial changes.  The  American  hates  to  work  with 
a  hoe  but  he  loves  to  use  tools  and  manage  ma- 
chines. One  has  only  to  observe  the  hours  a  man 
puts  on  his  automobile  to  be  convinced  that  work 
on  a  machine  is  a  pleasure  not  a  task.  The  out- 
put of  industry  is  thus  greatly  increased,  which 
in  turn  enlarges  the  choices  available  in  consump- 
tion. Combining  these  and  numerous  other  mate- 
rial advantages,  the  way  is  open  for  a  change  in 
the  dominant  type  of  the  population.  So  long 
as  vice  was  rampant  the  rigid  Puritan  morality 
was  necessary  for  those  who  would  avoid  degen- 
eration. In  early  days  the  struggle  between  vice 
and  morality  was  real  and  fierce.  Families  were 
large  but  population  was  scanty.  Where  did  the 
surplus  go?  Down  to  drunkards'  graves.  Of 
ten  children  three  survive.  Who  are  those  left? 
Are  they  physically  degenerate  or  a  type  that  was 
unfitted  to  the  then  prevailing  viron  ?  We  do  not 
wonder  when  Southern  trees  fail  to  weather 
Northern  blasts  nor  that  flowers  will  not  survive 
in  an  unhoed  garden.  In  all  physical  things  we 
see  this  fact,  yet  we  fail  to  apply  it  to  human 
affairs. 

The  dominant  type  in  America  today  are  those 
killed  off  a  century  ago  by  the  lure  of  tempta- 
tion. They  have  undergone  no  moral  transfor- 
mation. They  would  probably  drink  as  much 
whisky  and  be  as  shiftless  as  their  ancestors  if 
similarly  vironed.    They  eat  pie  and  drink  soda 


JOE  GANNETT  305 

because  they  like  them  better,  not  because  their 
morals  forbid  the  alternative.  In  survival  such 
men  have  an  advantage  over  their  strictly  moral 
neighbors.  Their  lives  have  become  more  fitted  to 
the  modern  viron  while  the  strictly  moral  have 
become  less  so.  Tuberculosis  and  similar  house 
diseases  cut  in  on  family  rigidity,  leaving  the 
survivors  in  inferior  positions. 

It  is  this  that  creates  the  moral  stress  in  vil- 
lage life.  Everybody  believes  in  the  old  form  of 
moral  doctrine  and  thinks  that  violators  are  pun- 
ished by  Scriptural  methods.  Deep  down  the  sin- 
ner should  go,  each  violation  throwing  him  on  a 
steeper  down-grade.  Poverty,  the  almshouse, 
a  drunkard's  burial  and  subsequent  unremitting 
punishment  is  the  moral  plot  so  often  repeated 
that  it  has  become  axiomatic.  As  all  signs  fail 
in  dry  weather,  so  all  benign  plots  are  wrecked  by 
American  experience.  There  is  no  toboggan 
slide.  The  sinner  is  always  breaking  conven- 
tion yet  he  never  gets  beyond  the  initial  stages. 
The  sun  shines  on  the  good  and  the  bad,  yet  bet- 
ter on  the  bad  than  on  the  good.  The  really  bad 
have  quit  the  village  long  ago,  leaving  the  bad 
like  the  good — except  in  their  moral  standing. 
By  doing  bad  their  social  standing  is  lost  but 
without  any  injury  to  crops.  The  bad  merely  eat 
more,  drink  less  and  wear  better  clothes.  They 
ride  in  autos  Sunday  afternoons  while  their 
neighbors,  sitting  behind  closed  windows,  wonder 
why  God's  wrath  does  not  create  a  consuming 
blaze.  Prophets  are  at  a  discount.  Once  they  led 
from  desert  to  fertile  valley.  Now  they  keep  their 
followers  on  stony  land.  The  golden  fruit  across 
the  way  rots  except  when  sinners  pick. 

These  facts  show  the  change  in  survival  which 
a  century  has  wrought.  The  major  part  of  each 
family  living,  drinking  and  enjo^-ing  life  was  then 
sucked  into  a  maelstrom  from  which  there  was  no 


306  MUD  HOLLOW 

return.  Only  a  rigid  discipline  kept  the  virtuous 
on  the  straight  road.  Today  the  eddy  has  been 
broken.  Pleasure  canoes  can  safely  glide  from 
shore  to  shore.  A  non-moral  type  survives,  who 
dash  against  convention,  pass  antique  scarecrows 
and  graze  on  fields  into  which  their  predecessors 
never  dared  to  look.  Though  without  moral  re- 
straint they  never  do  worse  than  to  eat  pie.  There 
is  plenty  of  indigestion  in 'every  village,  but  no 
toboggan  slide.  They  could  do  better  but  there 
is  something  in  the  situation  which  keeps  them 
from  doing  worse. 

The  problems  involved  are  not  merely  those  of 
the  village.  They  are  everywhere;  often  set  in 
more  striking  hues.  The  sternness  of  one  gener- 
ation sits  in  one  pew;  in  the  next,  genial  content- 
ment. The  one  is  deacon ;  the  other  trustee.  The 
deacon  is  censor;  the  trustee,  manager  and 
money-getter.  He  sits  in  his  pew  with  a  smile 
and  takes  with  temporary  seriousness  all  the  min- 
ister and  deacon  urge.  His  wife  is  thinking  of 
Auction  but  her  demeanor  is  as  sedate  as  the 
deacon's  mate.  The  daughter,  glancing  across 
the  aisle  at  Mamie  Smith,  wonders  if  she  will 
heed  the  reproof.  There  is  a  return  glance  with 
the  same  implication  but  in  neither  case  does  the 
lesson  sink  deeply.  Both  families  live  amid 
abundant  choices  and  never  consult  morality  in 
determining  them.  They  are  far  from  bad  in 
their  neighbors'  opinion,  yet  not  good  by  church 
standard.  The  trustee  is  proud  of  his  maternal 
ancestor  who  died  for  her  opinions  but  this  does 
not  prevent  him  from  sending  a  letter  lauding  the 
Attorney-General  for  his  severe  treatment  of 
Huns,  Socialists  and  other  brands  of  radical 
thought.  He  accepts  with  a  smile  the  deacon's 
reproof  for  Sunday  automobile  trips  although  in 
turn  he  wonders  how  any  one  can  expect  to  save 
a  whole  family  for  twenty-five  dollars  a  year. 


JOE  GANNETT  307 

Yet  he  likes  to  see  the  deacon  pass  the  communion 
cup  and  would  be  shocked  if  a  less  sedate  man 
were  in  his  place.  The  deacon  is  thus  an  orna- 
ment— a  reminder  of  old  times.  His  is  a  dying 
race  while  the  trustee  is  the  future's  representa- 
tive. A  pure-blooded  deacon  is  hard  to  find. 
Some  churches  pay  a  premium  to  get  the  right 
brand.  When  filled  with  fat,  florid  parishioners 
it  adds  to  dignity  to  have  a  hollow-eyed  deacon 
pace  the  aisle. 

The  public  has  visualized  the  deacon  as  temper- 
ance advocate  and  repressor  of  art.  Yet  the  trus- 
tee is  the  real  sinner.  It  is  he  who  denounces 
girls  with  short  hair,  skirts  and  socks.  Every 
innovation  brings  a  volume  of  wrath  not  because 
it  is  bad  but  because  he  dislikes  change.  Old  days 
and  good  old  ways  excite  his  admiration. 

It  is  wrong  to  think  of  the  officials  at  Washing- 
ton, persecuting  helpless  minorities,  as  fierce 
tigers  or  as  straight-laced  Puritans.  They  are 
merely  good-natured  individuals  striving  to  win 
popular  approval.  Their  feelings  are  merely  herd 
instinct,  not  race  or  opinion  hatred.  We  should 
not  think  of  a  bull  pawing  and  bellowing  as  hat- 
ing the  object  of  his  attack.  He  is  seeking  herd 
favor.  The  flow  of  herd  action  goes  out  over 
channels  set  by  wrath  and  has  all  its  external 
marks.  The  herd  leader  is  merely  a  hundred  per 
cent  American  following  the  line  of  least  resist- 
ance. He  is  cruel  and  arrogant  not  from  nature 
but  because  popular  leadership  demands  it.  The 
level  of  the  mob  is  his  level.  W^hat  to  them  is 
wish  becomes  to  him  a  deed.  The  herd  does  not 
hate;  it  merely  has  a  repugnance  of  difference. 
A  new  color,  a  new  form,  a  new  opinion  receive 
the  same  condemnation;  blank  similarity  is  their 
crowning  joy. 

The  century  has  altered  the  surviving  type. 
The  drunkard,  the  tramp,  the  horse  jockey,  be- 


308  MUD  HOLLOW 

coming  converts,  emerge  as  hustlers,  trustees  and 
one  hundred  per  cent  Americans.     The  deacon 
type  have  lost  their  social  ascendancy  and  are 
often  outside  the  church  in  the  various  dissent 
organizations.    They  are  single-taxers,  Socialists, 
conscientious    objectors,    peace    advocates    and 
other  protesting  groups  who  dislike  the  pressure 
arrogant  majorities  exert.    The  deacon  might  see 
a  resemblance  between  himself  and  the  conscien- 
tious objector  but  would  be  shocked  if  put  in  with 
a  Socialist;  yet  if  the  form  of  argument  and  the 
method  of  reasoning  are  considered,  the  differ- 
ence is  slight.    The  Bolsheviki  are  unwashed  dea- 
cons; the  trustee  is  a  washed  tramp.     The  one 
hundred  per  cent  American  is  primitive  energy 
directed  in  new  channels.     If  he  got  drunk  once 
a  week  he  would  use  his  energy  in  braAvls,  but 
in  the  new  world  it  is  more  fun  to  persecute  min- 
orities.   There  is  thus  an  emphasis  of  physical 
prowess  and  a  love  of  adventure.    Literature  has 
not  yet  caught  the  spirit  of  the  change.     The 
peaked-faced  devils  and  New  England  deacons  are 
still  on  the  stage.     The  movie,  however,  repre- 
sents character  in  its  modern  form.    The  acting  of 
a  Douglas  Fairbanks  meets  modern  demands.  He 
has  the  form,  the  smile  and  tlie  dash  which  hold 
the  attention.     By  watching  his  ways  and  com- 
paring them  with  those  of  the  man  on  the  street 
the  observer  can  bring  to  the  fore  the  salient 
changes  in  shape  and  desire  which  the  century 
has  wrought. 

Such  was  Joe  and  the  opinion  of  Joe.  When 
the  bad  disappear  in  the  bottomless  pit  it  is  easy 
to  point  a  moral  and  give  warning  to  young  and 
tempted.  But  when  the  mcked  prosper,  have 
horses,  full  barns  and  bumper  crops — even  a  Job 
fails  to  unravel  the  mysteries  of  Providence. 
House  on  the  sand:  yes,  sand  could  be  seen  be- 
neath each  pillar.     The  bank  is  ready  to  cave. 


ACQUIEED  CHAEACTERS  309 

When  the  rain  descends,  the  floods  come,  and  the 
winds  blow,  Joe 's  neighbors  leap  from  bed  to  see 
the  fall,  only  to  return  crying:  "How  long?  How 
long?    How  long!" 

12 

Acquired  Characters 

Science  teaches  that  characters  are  of  two 
sorts:  a  physical  heredity  which  is  passed  from 
parent  to  child ;  a  social  heredity  which  each  gen- 
eration impresses  on  the  next.  Acquired  traits 
we  are  told  cannot  change  physical  heredity.  If 
so,  physical  heredity  is  not  altered  by  the  acts 
of  a  particular  generation.  The  degenerate  die 
out.  The  normal  survive  to  give  the  next  genera- 
tion its  physical  heredity.  If  that  is  improving, 
the  race  rises,  forcing  manners  to  undergo  a 
change  for  the  better. 

Natural  traits  cannot  be  altered ;  acquired  traits 
cannot  be  inherited.  So  much  is  clear  yet  a  con- 
fusion lies  in  the  background  which  obviates  the 
inference  that  the  acquired  traits  we  value  are 
the  same  as  the  natural  traits  we  inherit.  The 
words  used  thus  create  the  assumption  that  in 
character-building  heredity  is  all-important.  If, 
however,  moral  traits  are  post-natal  products  re- 
grafted  on  each  generation  by  social  means,  the 
graft  not  the  heredity  is  supreme.  Of  this  graft 
the  inherited  element  is  emotion.  The  acquired 
element  is  some  shock  or  strain  to  which  the  child 
is  subjected.  A  single  shock  or  a  ten-minute 
strain  may  alter  a  child 's  character  in  ways  which 
endure  for  life. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  child  prenatally  goes 
through  a  fish  stage  and  a  reptilian  stage.  AVhat 
is  not  so  clearly  seen  is  that  a  child  at  birth  is  in 
just  such  another  stage  out  of  which  it  must  come 


310  MUD  HOLLOW 

if  it  is  to  reach  normal  maturity.  At  birth  it  is 
merely  a  nervous  bundle,  a  development  wrought 
by  the  difficulties  of  child  birth.  Whatever  pro- 
longs this  nervous  dominance  is  almost  as  bad  in 
its  effect  as  it  would  have  been  to  have  remained 
a  fish  or  a  reptile.  It  is  not  heredity  but  the  hap- 
penings between  birth  and  adolescence  which 
keeps  a  child  in  or  elevates  him  above  this  birth 
level. 

Emotion  gives  the  arousing  force  to  action; 
instinct  directs  the  response.  These  two  sides  of 
heredity  have  developed  together.  In  the  lower 
organisms  the  two  correspond,  there  being  an 
emotion  to  arouse  and  an  instinct  to  direct  each 
adjustive  act.  In  an  insect  each  external  pres- 
sure arouses  a  definite  nervous  response,  such 
that  action  and  reaction  are  so  related  that  pre- 
dicates from  one  to  the  other  can  readily  be  made. 
If  an  insect  is  compared  w^ith  a  monkey  a  marked 
change  in  the  form  of  reaction  is  visible.  The 
antecedents  of  acts  are  no  longer  to  be  sought  in 
the  direct  contacts  of  the  monkey  with  its  viron. 
His  responses  are  imitations  of  other  creatures. 
He  does  what  he  sees  others  do  instead  of  re- 
sponding directly  to  his  material  contacts. 

An  instinct  is  an  inherited  mechanism.  The 
nervous  system  is  so  organized  that  it  gives 
definite  responses  to  each  vital  stimulus.  Imita- 
tion is  an  acquired  trait.  What  others  do  creates 
the  impulse  to  action.  Judged  mechanically,  the 
difference  between  a  monkey  and  an  insect  is  that 
the  monkey  has  lost  some  of  the  inherited  nervous 
mechanisms  in  which  the  insect  excels.  There 
has  been  a  decay  in  the  mechanical  responses  to 
external  stimuli  in  the  place  of  which  imitation 
has  gained  a  dominance.  Why  this  has  happened 
could  be  easily  demonstrated,  but  the  real  point 
is  that  the  intelligence  shown  by  the  monkey  rep- 
resents not  a  gain  in  inheritance  but  a  loss.    In- 


ACQUIEED  CHARACTERS  311 

stinct  lias  been  replaced  by  acquired  knowledge. 
This  decay  of  instincts  has  gone  much  farther 
in  the  case  of  man.  Most  of  his  instincts  have 
lost  force.  Men  stimulated  by  the  viron  havel 
emotion  which  prompts  action ;  but  no  instinct  to 
direct  it.  The  direction  comes  through  imitation 
or  through  a  rational  process.  The  accepted  as- 
sumption is  that  the  change  from  insect  to  mon- 
key and  from  monkey  to  man  has  been  through 
increases  in  inherited  mechanisms.  The  change 
however  involves  a  loss  in  inherited  nervous 
mechanism,  not  a  gain.  The  dictum  of  acquired 
traits,  not  being  heritable,  does  not  hold.  The 
victory  of  acquired  traits  over  heritable  nervous 
mechanisms  happened  way  back  in  the  monkey 
stage.  We  inherit  emotions;  we  do  not  inherit 
responses.  Our  emotions  are  natural;  our  re- 1 
spouses  are  acquired. 

If  an  insect  is  compared  with  man  the  striking 
difference  is  that  man  has  a  better  body  than  the 
insect  and  that  its  functioning  has  more  influence 
on  conduct  than  is  the  case  with  insects.  We  like 
to  call  our  bodies  flesh  and  imagine  that  we  are 
superior  to  the  degree  we  thwart  their  behests. 
But  the  facts  contradict  this  assumption.  Our 
bodies  have  developed;  tlie  control  of  body  by 
inherited  nervous  mechanisms  has  decreased. 
Practically  it  can  be  said  of  normal  men  that 
bodily  behests  control  the  mind  instead  of  in- 
herited mental  instincts  controlling  the  body.  The 
mind  is  almost  blank  until  emotion  and  experi- 
ence determine  its  direction.  Thought  is  thus  the 
servant  of  action,  not  its  master. 

An  insect's  reaction  to  pain  is  anger.  The  mon- 
key anticipating  pain  reacts  against  it  not  by 
angry  attack,  but  by  avoidance.  The  monkey 
runs  instead  of  fights.  His  inherited  mechanisms 
of  response  are  useless;  their  degeneration  a 
benefit.    After  the  monkey  had  been  on  the  run 


U 


312  MUD  HOLLOW 

for  ages  the  instinctive  nervous  losses  were  great 
enough  to  permit  rational  conduct.    Progress  lies 
not  in  restoring  nervous  control  as  the  rational- 
ist and  moralist  demand,  but  in  further  perfec-| 
tion  of  body  so  that  its  emotions  and  reactions  li 
reflect  in  an  unconscious  way  the  adjustment  on/ 1 
which  superior  life  depends. 

Neither  progress  nor  degeneration  should  be 
regarded    as    natural    unless    evidences    of    the 
^_^hange  are  visible  in  pre-human  forms.  Measured] 
^rm  this  way  the  earliest  forms  of  action  are  trop-j 
V        isms  due  to  the  direct  action  of  physical  forcesj 
An  external  control  is  thus  formed  to  be  replaced 
later  by  instincts  which  are  mechanically  estab- 
lished movements  ending  with  some  external  re- 
sponse.   These  mechanisms  are  parts  of  the  cen- 
tral nervous  system  which  create  definite  connec- 
tion between  the  organs  of  the  body.    The  units 
of  this  system  are  the  reflexes  capable  of  inde- 
pendent action  but  which  in  most  cases  are  under 
the  control  of  the  brain  centers. 

The  non-structural  reactions  are  the  effect 
which  elementary  physical  forces  have  on  animal 
organisms.  Heat,  light,  gravitation,  pressure, 
are  each  the  source  of  animal  movement.  The 
difference  between  these  reactions  and  those  ner- 
vously conveyed  is  that  there  is  no  mechanism 
connecting  the  parts.  If  heat  or  light  creates  ac- 
tion the  co-ordination  ceases  with  the  cessation 
of  the  force.  If  a  moth  goes  toward  a  light  its 
movement  stops  when  the  light  fades.  The  moth 
does  not  go  toward  the  light  because  of  any  in- 
herited mechanism  but  because  of  the  direct  effect 
of  the  light  rays.  A  bee  scenting  a  flower  moves 
toward  it  as  the  result  of  centrally  aroused  im- 
pulses conveyed  back  and  forth  by  nerve  cur- 
rents. The  bee  could,  if  it  would,  turn  away  from 
the  flower;  the  moth  cannot  turn  from  the  light. 


ACQUIBED  CHARACTETiS  313 

It  has  no  mechanisms  by  which  to  resist  light 
impulses. 

The  direct  action  of  external  physical  forces 
has  to  a  large  measure  been  overcome  by  the 
development  of  the  central  nervous  system.  We 
seem  to  be  able  to  move  as  we  will  in  disregard 
of  physical  agents.  While  this  is  true  of  objec- 
tive forces  it  is  not  true  of  internal  processes. 
Certain  glands  secrete  and  exude  into  the  blood 
substances  which  arouse  action  in  other  parts 
similiar  to  that  which  the  physical  forces  exert 
on  lower  forms  of  life.  While  these  secretions 
are  discharged  into  the  blood  the  excitement  con- 
tinues ;  it  stops  when  the  secretion  ceases.  These 
temporary  forces  arouse  through  contact,  not 
through  a  nerve  current  mechanically  established. 
If  an  insect  is  injured  it  responds  with  a  sting. 
Its  nerve  connections  determine  the  kind  of  re- 
sponse ;  the  vigor  of  the  response  comes  however 
from  the  action  which  the  blood  excites.  So  with 
men;  what  we  do  our  nerves  tell,  but  the  vigor 
of  doing  the  blood  content  determines.  Anger  is 
due  to  blood  changes  caused  by  gland  discharges. 
The  nerve  mechanisms  enabling  us  to  act  effec- 
tively are  permanent  organic  relations  but  the 
feeling  of  anger  is  temporary,  coming  and  going 
with  the  stafe  of  the  blood.  If  then  the  excite- 
ment is  carried  from  one  part  of  the  system  to 
others  through  the  blood,  the  changes  effected  are 
blood  psychology.  In  contrast  to  this  there  is  a 
nerve  psycholo.gy,  when  the  excitement  is  carried 
along  well  defined  nervous  tracts.  In  the  first 
case  the  action  is  tropic;  in  the  second  instinctive. 
To  bear  this  contrast  in  mind  simplifies  many 
complex  situations  hard  to  explain  in  any  other 
way. 

Nerve  excitement  is  at  its  maximum  immediate- 
ly. Pain  starts  with  its  greatest  intensity  and 
falls  off  as  the  nerves  fatigue.    All  sense  prod- 


314  MUD  HOLLOW 

nets  are  instantaneous  in  their  effects.  We  see 
sights,  hear  sounds,  taste  or  smell  with  an  initial 
vigor  not  afterwards  excelled.  This  is  due  to  the 
perfection  of  the  nerve  currents.  Tropic  effects 
cannot  be  so  quickly  aroused.  The  glands  throw 
their  products  into  the  blood.  In  it  they  are  car- 
ried to  all  parts  of  the  body.  Withdraw  light  and 
the  vision  instantly  fades,  but  the  passion  aroused 
by  gland  action  only  gradually  subsides.  An 
angry  person  but  slowly  regains  his  conaposure. 
His  feeling  ceases  only  when  the  blood  is  freed 
of  the  discharged  hormones.  Tropic  force  thus 
intensifies  action  but  never  directs  it. 

When  glands  and  nerves  work  together  action 
is  vigorous  and  well  directed.  To  attain  this  end 
there  has  been  a  long  evolution.  For  each  in- 
stinct to  direct  there  should  be  an  emotion  to 
intensify  the  decision.  This  harmony  can  be  seen 
in  insects,  and  perhaps  best  of  all  in  the  carni- 
vora.  But  with  the  monkey  instincts  began  to 
decay  and  emotions  to  grow  or  at  least  they  hold 
their  own.  There  is  thus  an  overflow  of  emotion 
which  goes  out,  not  in  harmony  with  instinct,  but 
often  in  opposition  to  it.  This  opposition  can  be 
measured  objectively  through  gland  action  ^  or 
through  its  effect  in  conscious  emotion.  Objec- 
tively the  conflict  is  between  tropic  and  sensory 
forces.  Subjectively  the  contrast  is  between  an- 
ger and  joy.  An  angry  reaction  indicates  a  har- 
mony of  emotion  and  instinct.  Emotion  then  re- 
inforces instinctive  demands.  When  instinct  de- 
generates action  is  less  effective.  Fear  inter- 
venes; hesitation  results.  A  still  further  degen- 
eration is  indicated  by  kicking,  cr>i.ng,  tears  and 
other  emotional  reactions.  With  additional  de- 
generation men  laugh  at  what  would  to  an  in- 
stinctive person  cause  anger.  By  it  the  emotional 
currents  go  out  along  what,  adjustively  consid- 
ered, are  useless  paths.    Either  parts  are  aroused 


ACQUIEED  CHARACTERS  315 

which  have  no  adjustment  value,  or  old  degener- 
ate parts  are  stirred  to  a  renewed  activity. 
Laughter  is  merely  ineffective  anger.  The  flow  of 
emotion  in  the  two  cases  is  the  same.  The  same 
organs  are  aroused.  The  jaw  and  muscular  face 
movements  are  ineffectual  bites.  The  chill  of  the 
hack  which  accompanies  strong  emotion  is  an 
attempted  movement  w^hich  in  lower  animals 
would  have  moved  the  skin  or  stiffened  the  hair 
and  bristles.  Humor  turns  emotion  from  effec- 
tive adjustment  into  some  useless  suppressing 
channel.  All  these  emotional  puzzles  are  solved 
when  the  relation  of  instinct  to  tropic  action  is 
understood. 

The  degeneration  which  moralists  fear  can- 
not take  place  more  rapidly  than  natural  traits 
decay.  This  decay  if  judged  by  biologic  evidence 
must  be  slow.  Ages  must  pass  before  visible 
changes  manifest  themselves.  Rapid  declines  in 
civilization  must  therefore  have  other  causes. 
The  decay  which  moralists  lament  is  not  a  gen- 
eral decay  but  only  the  decay  of  some  special 
class.  The  whole  series  of  problems  can  be  made 
one  by  assuming  that  the  surviving  class  is  un- 
dergoing a  physical  degeneration  of  instinct, 
w^hile  the  defeated  group  is  undergoing  a  decay 
of  their  acquired  repressions.  Economic  pres- 
sure forces  a  moral  decay  of  the  defeated  while 
physical  superiority,  causing  instinctive  traits  to 
degenerate,  permits  the  increase  of  intelligence. 

Darwinian  theory  over-emphasizes  elimination 
as  the  source  of  progress.  In  some  unknown  way 
variation  occurs,  after  which  natural  forces  decide 
which  is  the  superior.  If,  however,  there  are 
tropic  forces  at  work,  nature  can  start  variations 
as  well  as  to  decide  between  them.  Does  organic 
modification  begin  with  the  direct  action  of  nat- 
ural forces,  or  does  it  begin  with  conscious  judg- 
ments which  improve  individual  power  to  per- 


316  MUD  HOLLOW 

form,  and  thus  lead  through  the  inheritance  of 
acquired  traits  to  a  more  effective  heredity?  The 
latter  answer  is  the  well  known  theory  of  La- 
marck. Heredity  is  thus  assumed  to  alter  after 
the  conscious  judgment  makes  changes.  This 
means  that  judgments  make  heredity  and  not  that 
heredity  makes  judgments,  an  order  which  I  wish 
to  question  without  falling  into  the  negative  at- 
titude of  the  orthodox  biologist. 

The  correct  order  I  assume  to  be:  first,  the 
direct  action  of  natural  forces  on  life ;  second,  the 
appearance  of  a  wish  to  do  what  natural  forces 
tend  to  create;  third,  a  power  to  do  through  the 
growth  of  inherited  traits.  Then  judgments  are 
formed  which  harmonize  with  natural  tendencies. 
From  this  viewpoint  the  acquired  traits  which 
Lamarck  puts  first  are  in  reality  the  last  to  alter 
and  are  thus  effects,  not  causes.  They  mark  the 
completion  of  an  epoch,  not  its  origin.  The  de- 
cay of  institutions,  morals,  customs,  and  habits 
does  not  indicate  physical  degeneration  but  an 
advance  in  heredity.  A  new  step  in  evolution  has 
come  to  a  final  epoch  in  which  old  institutions  no 
longer  fitting  the  new  heredity  must  give  way  to 
institutions  better  adapted  to  the  approaching 
epoch.  There  is  thus  a  square  issue  between  those 
who  argue  that  cultural  and  moral  decency  in- 
dicate physical  degeneration,  and  those  who  re- 
gard the  same  facts  as  an  indication  of  a  physical 
advance. 

Darwinism  shows  how  nature  can  decide  be- 
tween types  but  it  does  not  show  how  it  can  start 
new  ones.  This  gap  a  knowledge  of  tropic  forces 
fills.  Tropic  forces  are  always .  acting  on  life. 
Their  influence  is  in  opposition  to  the  already 
developed,  inherited  powers.  They  do  not  help 
an  animal  to  do  what  it  wants  to  do  but  compel 
it  to  do  something  else.  The  compulsion  which 
the  direct  natural  action  enforces  has  two  seem- 


INFERIOR  COMPLEXES  317 

ingly  conflicting  effects.  Wliat  nature  compels 
an  animal  to  do  it  tends  to  do  subsequently. 
Every  time  the  animal  is  compelled  to  do  what 
it  does  not  want  to  do  its  will  power  is  increased 
by  the  resistance  it  offers.  At  the  same  time  any 
movement  once  made  is  the  next  time  easier  to 
perform.  Every  tropic  impressment  thus  tends  to 
perpetuate  itself  as  a  tendency  which  as  it  grows 
becomes  a  wish.  If  a  wish  is  once  gratified  each 
subsequent  gratification  meets  with  less  resist- 
ance. It  tends  thus  to  become  habit  and  to  build 
conventions  which  enforce  its  demands.  The  wish 
in  this  sense  expresses  itself  mainly  through  ac- 
quired characters,  while  the  will  represents  in- 
herited tendencies  which  bodily  mechanisms  help 
to  enforce.  The  wish  and  the  will  thus  get  in 
conflict.  The  will  rules  where  there  are  adequate 
inherited  mechanisms  to  perform  desired  acts. 
The  wish  dominates  w^here  these  mechanisms  are 
absent  or  only  partly  developed.  Progress  in 
heredity  can  be  measured  in  tliree  ways — longev- 
ity, muscle  and  will.  Their  increase  shows  that 
heredity  is  improving.  Mental  superiority  is  not 
measured  in  these  ways  but  by  wishes  which  have 
no  adequate  biologic  enforcement.  It  is  not  doing 
what  we  can  but  trying  to  do  what  we  can't  which 
ultimately  tests  the  growth  of  life. 


13 

Infeeior  Complexes 

Through  his  home  contacts  a  feeling  of  supe- 
riority had  been  generated  in  Paul.  He  had  con- 
fidence in  every  one,  and  he  succeeded  by  aggres- 
sive action.  He  grew  as  every  young  animal 
grows,  with  a  complete  harmony  between  his  con- 
tacts and  reactions.    He  did  what  he  wanted  and 


318  MUD  HOLLOW 

did  well  because  of  the  accord  between  his  wishes 
and  his  needs. 

This  freedom  ceases  when  church  and  school 
are  entered.  Their  discipline  is  a  repression,  the 
assumption  being  that  the  child  is  in  tendency  de- 
praved. If  the  child  is  physically  weak  or  has 
been  taught  the  need  of  repression  by  previous 
ills,  he  adopts  the  social  patterns  and  makes  of 
them  a  second  nature.  But  if  the  aggressive 
spirit  has  been  aroused  by  the  antecedent  vic- 
tories a  stubborn  conflict  ensues.  Paul's  mother 
and  grandfather  believed  in  obedience,  humility 
and  sacrifice  as  firmly  as  they  believed  in  aggres- 
sive action  on  the  farm.  They  never  carried  over 
home  decisions  to  their  social  life.  School  obedi- 
ence was  to  them  axiomatic.  Why  Paul  needed 
discipline  they  could  hardly  say,  yet  they  relied 
on  its  efficiency.  The  teacher  believed  in  love  but 
also  in  autocratic  rule.  Her  devices  were  sugar- 
coated,  though  after  all  the  bitter  kernel  must  be 
taken.  So  long  as  the  things  taught  do  not  match 
the  aggressiveness  of  home,  discipline  is  needed 
to  divert  child  life  from  its  normal  channels ! 

This  discipline  of  the  teacher  and  moralist 
does  not  eradicate  the  wrong  tendency  they  dis- 
like; it  merely  distorts  the  expression  into  some 
other  more  subtle  form.  The  sense  of  superiority 
natural  to  the  child  is  transformed  into  a  sense  of 
inferiority.  A  new  group  of  passions  and  dis- 
tempers are  created  wliich  alters  the  child's  rela- 
tion to  his  comrades  and  superiors.  Docility  is 
not  humbly  accepted.  The  energy  which  would 
go  out  as  love  becomes  distrust  and  hate. 

Every  inclination  has  back  of  it  some  natural 
power  with  a  certain  amount  of  stored  energy. 
This  energy  breaks  through  its  restraints  as 
water  will  burst  a  dam.  The  obstacle  is  avoided 
by  flowing  in  some  new  channel.  The  symbol  is 
this  distorted  expression.     It  always  has  some 


INFERIOE  COMPLEXES  319 

features  in  common  with  the  origiDal  with  differ- 
ences enough  to  avoid  the  imposed  censorship. 
Purity  places  a  tabu  on  exposing  certain  features 
and  organs.  The  result  is  not  a  cessation  of  sex 
imagery  but  a  creation  of  sex  symbols.  By  this 
means  the  flow  of  passion  is  as  fierce  as  if  the 
concealed  organs  were  exposed.  Anything  asso- 
ciated with  a  suppressed  thought  or  action  be- 
comes a  symbol  of  them.  The  energy  back  of 
each  suppression  never  fails  to  gain  an  outlet. 
When  superficially  view^ed  symbolism  seems  with- 
out law,  but  beneath  all  is  a  general  law.  The 
suppressed  item  is  transformed  into  a  class  con- 
cept which  includes  all  thoughts  or  actions  asso- 
ciated with  the  original.  Then  there  is  a  degrad- 
ation through  loss  of  memory  or  through  further 
suppression  so  that  only  the  more  intense  mem- 
bers remain  in  consciousness.  These  become  the 
specific  symbol  of  the  suppressed  original  and  re- 
appear whenever  the  suppressed  mechanisms  are 
excited.  A  child  is  bitten  by  a  cat.  All  similar 
biting  animals  become  objects  of  fear.  Then  the 
fear  concept  fades,  leaving  only  its  intense  rep- 
resentatives. The  child  may  forget  the  cat  bite 
and  yet  have  an  intense  fear  of  wolves  which  it 
has  never  seen.  Applying  this  principle  to  Paul, 
a  particular  teacher  provoked  his  antagonism. 
His  dislike  of  her  he  transferred  to  other  women 
and  to  all  objects  she  admired.  He  gets  even  with 
women  and  art  by  degrading  them  below  the  level 
of  what  he  loves.  If  what  he  likes  is  bad,  the 
disliked  objects  are  worse.  This  is  the  inferiority 
complex.  We  exalt  what  we  love,  not  by  describ- 
ing its  beauty,  but  by  degrading  its  opposite. 

If  some  one  had  accused  Paul  of  hating  women 
he  would  have  denied  it.  He  had  forgotten  how 
his  ideas  originated.  For  women  in  general  he 
had  a  great  admiration  for  he  catalogued  this 
universal  woman  under  the  concept  of  mother, 


320  MUD  HOLLOW 

yet  any  particular  girl  went  into  the  subconscious 
class  of  which  the  teacher  was  exemplar.  Her 
beauty,  her  form,  her  ways,  repulsed  him.  He 
was  cold  but  he  knew  not  why.  In  contrast  to  this 
was  the  mother-concept  which  to  him  was  the 
symbol  of  all  the  good.  She  was  not  a  beauty  like 
the  teacher.  Her  face  was  sweet  but  her  form 
was  faded.  He  symbolized  her  qualities  as  rep- 
resentative of  all  virtues. 

The  reader  may  not  attach  the  importance  they 
deserve  to  these  statements.  He  will  probably 
smile  at  the  implied  criticism  of  normal  school 
methods.  I  will  therefore  add  some  reminiscences 
of  school  life  to  show  their  reality.  I  was  reared 
in  the  flattest  part  of  the  great  West,  on,  as  I 
thought,  the  best  farm  in  the  state.  I  loved  its 
square  fields,  its  angular  board  fences,  its  straight 
rows  of  corn.  All  else  that  grew  was  classed  as 
weeds  and  exterminated  at  sight.  Of  Scotch  an- 
cestry, I  assumed  my  family  and  church  to  be 
superior  to  all  else.  To  our  school  an  eastern 
teacher  came.  She  disliked  Illinois  flatness  as 
much  as  I  admired  it.  She  extolled  stone  walls, 
hills,  brooks,  flowers  and  other  peculiarities  of 
the  admired  East.  She  claimed  descent  from  the 
Mayflower  and  knew  nothing  of  which  Scotland 
boasts.  The  name  Patten  was  flat,  she  said,  while 
her  name — Parkinson — was  ornate.  I  cannot 
complain  of  her  instruction.  She  was  earnest  and 
well  meaning,  but  she  created  a  group  of  con- 
trasts which  changed  the  current  of  my  thought, 
and  after  many  years  are  not  thoroughly  eradi- 
cated. Bright  colors,  curved  lines,  fancy  dresses 
and  pretty  faces  became  objects  of  indifference 
or  aversion. 

The  suppression  of  what  I  loved  did  not  result 
in  the  enlargement  of  the  opposite  but  in  an  at- 
tempt to  keep  me  and  mine  superior  by  implied 
belittlement  of  other  ideals.    Whenever  denuncia- 


SUPER  COMPLEXES  321 

tion  and  belittlement  are  manifest,  this  principle 
has  been  at  work.  It  colors  literature  and  de- 
grades religion.  We  call  that  depravity  and  de- 
generation which  emphasizes  our  superiority  by 
a  depreciation  of  others.  As  soon  as  the  major- 
ity begins  its  repressions  the  minority  defends 
itself  by  a  depreciation  of  popular  aims.  A  de- 
cadent or  losing  section  or  class  never  admits 
that  its  defeat  is  due  to  natural  or  inevitable 
causes.  The  worse  the  defeat  the  severer  the  de- 
nunciation of  the  victor.  They  thus  come  to  re- 
gard themselves  as  remnant  supermen,  or  as  iso- 
lated peaks  in  a  dismal  world  swamp. 


14 
Super  Complexes 

Some  months  ago  I  was  walking  along  a  road 
in  a  dejected  state.  I  looked  up:  a  new  moon 
threw  a  mass  of  light  in  my  face.  For  a  moment 
the  moon  and  I  were  one.  When  I  regained  com- 
posure my  depression  disappeared.  What  had 
happened?  What  did  the  moon  do  to  me?  Two 
explanations  seem  plausible.  The  shock  may  have 
altered  my  association  of  ideas  and  thus  pro- 
duced a  purely  mental  effect.  The  other  is  that 
the  rays  of  light  had  a  direct  physical  influence 
which  altered  my  mental  concepts.  Can  light  or 
any  other  physical  force  originate  mental  states 
different  from  those  which  associations  due  to 
experience  form!  This  is  a  problem  worthy  of 
discussion  and  on  which  light  also  can  be  thrown. 

I  start  again  from  the  example  of  a  moth 
struggling  with  light.  It  moves  toward  the  light 
not  because  of  inherited  mechanisms  but  because, 
lacking  mechanisms  to  voice  its  will,  the  rays  of 
light  become  the  deciding  influence  in  determin- 


322  MUD  HOLLOW 

ing  its  behavior.  The  analogy  to  my  condition 
seems  far-fetched.  I  have  physical  mechanisms 
to  carry  out  will  decisions,  and  thus  seem  outside 
the  influence  which  compels  the  moth  to  act.  This 
is  indeed  true — but  states  of  depression  destroy 
will  power.  Was  I  not  therefore  in  exactly  the 
condition  of  the  moth,  so  will-less  through  depres- 
sion that  a  slight  external  force  sufficed  to  alter 
the  current  of  my  thought  1  Are  not  all  men  or  at 
least  many  men  at  times  so  will-less  that  external 
forces  can  determine  behavior? 

When  this  problem  is  consciously  faced  there  is 
not  merely  my  evidence  to  interpret  but  a  multi- 
tude of  familiar  facts  which  tend  in  the  same 
direction.  Religious  instructors  have  taught  the 
negative  of  will  as  the  essential  prerequisite  to 
communication  with  God.  We  need  not  take  their 
evidence  as  to  what  the  feeling  of  oneness  with 
God  really  means ;  but  the  fact  is  plain  as  to  how 
it  arises.  Depression  is  the  first  step.  The  de- 
votee seeks  the  woods  or  at  least  isolates  himself 
so  that  old  trains  of  thought  are  repressed.  When 
his  will-lessness  is  complete  nature,  acting  on  him, 
alters  the  current  of  his  thought.  In  his  inter- 
pretation the  new  thought  is  external  in  its  origin 
and  hence  from  God.  The  external  origin  seems 
evident.  Nature  can  determine  behavior  by  direct 
means  if  human  wills  are  so  incapacitated  that 
they  cannot  resist  external  influences.  Two  facts 
seem  to  me  evident,  however  defective  religious 
interpretation  of  them  may  be.  Physical  forces 
can  exert  a  direct  influence  on  behavior.  The  de- 
votee is  right  in  his  assertion  that  the  voice  or 
power-compelling  action  is  external  to  himself. 

The  evidence  of  physical  direction  when  the 
will  is  dormant  depends  only  partially  on  re- 
ligious experience.  All  poets  use  the  same  means 
of  getting  inspiration  even  though  they  find  it  in 
a  different  way.    They  seek  nature  and  love  iso- 


SUPER  COMPLEXES  323 

lation.  Nothing  is  plainer  than  the  influence  that 
light,  air  and  vision  have  upon  them.  Their 
walking  with  nature  is  the  same  in  substance  as 
the  religious  devotees'  walking  with  God.  They 
go  from  depression  to  elation  through  direct  con- 
tact with  physical  forces  and  are  as  truly  con- 
verted by  them  as  are  religious  enthusiasts.  God 
and  nature  are  not  far  apart.  The  difference  is 
more  in  name  than  in  reality. 

On  this  point  my  experience  is  typical.  Not 
only  on  the  occasion  mentioned  but  on  many 
others  a  sudden  physical  change  has  created  a 
revolution  of  thought.  I  rid  myself  of  depres- 
sion by  nature  contacts,  following  which  comes 
a  new  thought  series  which  appears  a  miracle  in 
that  it  is  objective.  I  often  console  myself  in 
depression — that  now  I  shall  get  new  ideas  in  the 
recovery  or  a  solution  of  unsolved  problems  that 
before  were  puzzles!  It  rarely  happens  that  in 
the  sudden  uplift  out  of  depression  this  does  not 
take  place.  I  start  on  a  trip  through  the  woods, 
walk  in  isolation  for  miles.  Suddenly  the  de- 
pression goes,  after  which  comes  an  intense  ela- 
tion bringing  with  it  a  flood  of  vivid  ideas  so 
objective  that  they  seem  to  have  come  from  with- 
out. I  cannot  wonder  that  this  state  is  called  a 
communion,  so  vivid  is  its  seeming  objectivity.  I 
doubt  the  reality  of  a  communication.  At  least 
there  is  little  evidence  of  this  in  my  case.  Un- 
less, however,  complete  objectivity  is  denied,  there 
is  a  need  of  an  explanation  running  counter  to 
scientific  doctrine.  Objectivity  doctrines  have 
two^  forms.  One  is  religious,  the  other  poetic. 
Eeligious  _  enthusiasm  begins  in  depression  and 
the  negation  of  personal  will.  A  sudden  eleva- 
tion of  thought  occurs  which  is  accepted  as  the 
voice  of  God.  This  change  of  thought  is  called  a 
conversion  and  the  power  to  make  it  is  assumed 
to  come  from  without.     All  sublime  poetry  also 


324  MUD  HOLLOW 

begins  in  a  depressed  mental  state.  The  poet 
seeks  the  quiet  of  nature  and  excludes  human  con- 
tacts. Then  comes  the  communion  with  nature, 
and  the  poet  thinks  he  hears  the  voice  of  nature 
calling  for  a  response.  The  thought  movement 
in  the  two  cases  is  the  same.  Nature  and  God 
are  one. 

A  third  group  of  familiar  cases  is  that  of  a  man 
wearied  by  some  problem  he  fails  to  solve.  He 
sleeps,  takes  a  pleasure  trip  or  indulges  in  sport. 
Freshness  returns,  when  like  a  miracle  the  solu- 
tion of  his  problem  looms.  These  cases  show 
three  common  elements,  depression,  a  state  of 
will-lessness  and  the  action  of  some  objective 
force. 

If  these  facts  are  accepted  their  interpreta- 
tion is  not  difficult.  The  difference  between  con- 
scious and  subconscious  activity  is  now  too  fam- 
iliar to  need  further  discussion.  The  force  back 
of  conscious  activity  is  the  complexes  acquired 
through  or  based  on  muscular  activity.  This  is 
will.  A  state  of  will-lessness  is  therefore  a  state 
negating  the  influence  of  acquired  complexes. 
Depression  is  the  agent  by  which  this  is  wrought. 
When  the  acquired  complexes  are  repressed  by 
depression  the  ultimate  natural  forces  gain  a 
dominance.  These  in  their  general  form  are 
what  is  called  the  wish.  The  will — that  is,  the 
acquired  concepts — rules  in  ordinary  moods; 
the  wish  in  periods  of  depression.  Depression 
is  not  therefore  mere  negation.  It  has  a  positive 
element  which  always  shows  itself  in  recovery. 
In  a  depressed  mood  a  slight  physical  force  can 
start  an  upward  movement  of  thought.  This  the 
weather,  the  ozone  of  the  woods,  the  moon,  a  bril- 
liant sky  or  a  striking  landscape  can  arouse  and 
thus  bring  nature  and  heredity  into  accord  with- 
out the  interference  of  acquired  concepts.  Every 
such  break,  throwing  out  some  acquired  complex. 


SUPER  COMPLEXES  325 

permits  a  new  thought  movement  and  with  it  a 
permanent  change  of  behavior. 

This  again  assumes  that  the  direct  action  of 
physical  forces  harmonizes  with  inherited  ten- 
dencies so  that  an  upward  thought  movement  is 
evoked  when  the  two  act  without  interference. 
This  thought  movement  is  essentially  the  same  in 
all  persons  no  matter  by  what  name  it  is  called. 
It  is  a  groping  for  fulfillment.  A  desire  not 
merely  to  run  the  course  which  heredity  has  set, 
but  to  go  beyond  and  gain  some  goal.  This  is  the 
universal  myth.  Taking  out  details  easily  ac- 
counted for  in  specific  cases,  the  poet,  the  prophet, 
the  dramatist  have  a  common  plot  which  leads  in 
a  unified  direction.  It  is  this  common  element, 
always  present  in  the  recovery  from  depression, 
which  creates  a  super-self  as  much  above  the  level 
of  personality  as  sense-self  is  below  it.  In  such 
a  condition  we  move  toward  the  light  as  truly  as 
does  the  moth  and  for  the  same  reason. 

Call  light  by  what  name  we  will,  yet  light  it  is 
to  which  we  grope  in  states  of  elation.  Depres- 
sion is  always  darkness,  light  its  relief  and  goal. 
Such  a  feeling  and  interpretation  could  not  exist 
if  the  direct  influence  of  physical  forces  were  not 
an  element  in  character  building.  The  dominating 
influence  on  our  lives  is  still  what  it  was  when  the 
amoeba  first  struggled  for  self-expression.  Man 
has  better  mechanisms  to  move  toward  the  light 
than  it  had,  he  is  more  conscious  of  his  acts,  yet 
his  ends  are  still  vague  and  are  to  be  reached  only 
by  crude  groping.  Mechanisms  make  will,  na- 
ture makes  wish.  The  wish  thus  represents  evo- 
lution yet  to  come,  just  as  the  will  represents  the 
stages  through  which  evolution  has  gone.  Between 
the  two  is  an  eternal  conflict,  some  element  of 
which  we  face  every  time  we  go  through  a  period 
of  depression.    Will-lessness  is  a  defect  of  char- 


326  MUD  HOLLOW 

acter  and  yet  it  is  tlie  only  door  through  which 
evohition  can  advance. 

This  is  a  physical  view — one  with  which  dream- 
ers and  prophets  have  little  sympathy.  They  think 
not  of  antecedents — are  unconscious  of  the  per- 
sonality they  have  repressed,  only  seeing  the  re- 
sult which  thus  becomes  a  real  miracle.    Yet  the 
sequences  are  not  difficult  to  explain.    Some  right- 
eous cause  draws  the  energy  and  in  its  zeal  de- 
stroys much  that  in  gentler  moods  would  be  valued 
higher  than  the  ends  attained.     This  overdoing 
breaks  the  power  of  the  will  by  which  the  ferocious 
deeds  are  upheld.     It  is  tlie  tired  prophet,  the 
worn  soldier,  the  weary  poet  to  whom  world  vision 
comes.    Had  they  not  overdone,  it  could  not  have 
broken  its  iron  bonds.    Had  there  been  no  glori- 
fied cloud,  the  inner  could  not  have  passed  over 
into  the  outer.     But  when  all  these  happen  to- 
gether and  to  the  same  individual,  the  repressed 
becomes  dominant.    The  religious  enthusiast  fasts 
or  goes  into  the  desert  to  live  on  strange  food. 
By  cutting  out  meat  he  gets  rid  of  its  toxins.    In 
the   refreshing   sleep   that   follows   he    sees   the 
visions  for  which  he  longs.    Fasting  and  exercise, 
though  seemingly  different,  have  the  same  general 
effect.    They  purify  the  blood  and  thus  promote 
a  general  elation  with  its  vivid  thought  movement. 
My   means    of   getting   mental    elation    differ 
from  those  I  have  described.    The  first  three  or 
four  miles  of  a  long  walk  are  dull  monotony;  then 
comes  a  period  of  elation,  followed  after  a  couple 
of  hours  by  a  corresponding  depression.    On  the 
physical  side  this  means  that  the  first  miles,  start- 
ing a  vigorous  circulation  of  blood,  free  my  sys- 
tem of  toxins,  pure  blood  elates  my  mental  pro- 
cesses, thought  mounts  to  the  clouds  and  frees 
itself  from  the  cramping  conditions  of  time  and 
space.    In  this  way  are  incorporated  into  experi- 
ence vague  super-sensitive  elements  which  create 


SUPER  COMPLEXES  327 

super  complexes  as  much  above  the  sense  level  as 
the  content  of  an  inferior  complex  is  below  it. 
Inferior  complexes  have  their  origin  in  repres- 
sions about  which  habit  and  instinct  build.  A  de- 
veloped complex  may  have  little  to  do  with  ex- 
perience, so  little  that  the  actual  origin  may  be 
forgotten,  yet  an  analysis  reveals  its  definite  na- 
ture. The  acquired  elements  are  first,  even  if 
obscured.  The  natural  elements  are  subsequent 
additions.  In  a  super  complex  the  opposite  de- 
velopment occurs.  The  blood  elation  arouses  in 
consciousness  inherited  forms  which  have  little 
relation  to  concrete  life.  It  thus  gives  a  vague 
background  to  thought  which  is  made  concrete 
through  associations  with  the  actual  content  of 
experience.  The  super  complex  adds  to  itself 
sense  elements  in  the  process  of  becoming  real 
and  by  so  doing  personality  is  elevated  to  a  posi- 
tion more  exalted  than  mere  experience  warrants. 
As  personality  rises  to  this  new  level  the  bad  is 
disintegrated  just  as  in  inferior  complexes  it  is 
emphasized.  Elation  thus  throws  a  person  into 
a  triumphant  mood  in  which  world  ills  are  elimi- 
nated. 

An  elated  person  is  said  to  dream ;  day  dreams, 
they  are  called.  The  wished  becomes  the  real. 
The  mechanism  is  thus  the  same  as  of  wishes  or 
night  dreams.  That  for  which  the  mind  yearns  is 
w^oven  into  complexes  which,  diverting  the  current 
of  thought  from  bare  reality,  project  the  mental 
picture  into  the  outer  world.  If  a  child,  envisag- 
ing a  stump — sees  a  wolf,  or  if  an  excited  person 
sees  a  witch,  it  is  plain  they  have  given  an  objec- 
tive form  to  their  mental  fears.  But  when  a 
woman  sees  the  Virgin,  or  a  man  communing  with 
God  hears  voices  from  Heaven,  science  forgets 
mental  process  and  denies  the  testimony.  Yet 
the  process  in  all  these  cases  is  the  same.    Vivid 


328  MUD  HOLLOW 

mental  pictures  projected  beyond  ourselves  are 
made  a  part  of  the  outer  world. 

I  love  to  walk  through  the  woods,  not  to  see 
the  birds,  trees  or  flowers,  but  to  get  the  elation 
which  only  pure  air  and  exercise  arouse.  The 
farther  I  go  the  more  am  I  divorced  from  reality. 
Suddenly  coming  into  an  opening  I  see  a  beautiful 
vista.  For  the  moment  the  world  of  which  I  am 
thinking,  projecting  itself,  blends  with  the  scene 
just  as  the  child  projects  its  fears  on  the  stump 
and  makes  a  wolf  of  it.  However  great  the  illu- 
sion, the  fact  is  the  child  sees  the  wolf.  I  also 
see  in  the  world  about  me  those  things  of  which 
I  am  dreaming. 

Why  such  elated  transfers  of  thought  are  not 
so  common  as  the  objectilication  of  fear  does  not 
lie  in  a  difference  in  the  process,  but  in  the 
frequency  of  the  occurring  event.  Fear  situations 
we  all  meet.  The  striking  combinations  which 
objectify  dreams  come  but  occasionally;  to  many 
because  of  the  temperament  or  situation  they 
never  come.  If  the  prophet  did  not  dream,  if  he 
did  not  seek  secluded  spots  w^here  nature  reveals 
its  wealth,  he  would  never  have  the  visions  which 
blend  reality  with  its  super  powers.  A  cherished 
thought  can  under  these  circumstances  seem  a 
voice  coming  from  above.  When  Moses  saw  the 
light  in  the  bush  and  heard  a  voice  commanding 
him  to  free  his  brethren — are  we  to  assume  that 
he  had  had  no  previous  thought  of  this  mission  or 
was  he  so  absorbed  in  this  thought  that  a  flaming 
bush  helped  him  to  objectify  what  he  wanted  to 
hear?  The  better  explanation  of  prophetic  visions 
is  that  the  command  told  the  hearer  to  do  what 
he  ardently  wished  to  do  but  lacked  the  courage  to 
perform.  The  effect  of  the  vision  is  on  the  will. 
Timidity  vanishes;  the  heroic  emerges.  This  we 
see,  but  the  process  is  deeper  and  more  intricate. 


SUPER  COMPLEXES  329 

A  super  complex  is  formed,  which  abiding  gives 
a  turn  to  subsequent  experience. 

Every  conscious  state  has  some  form,  color  and 
intensity,  the  ultimate  grouping  of  which  voices 
our  inherited  bodily  urges.  So  stated  there  is 
nothing  mysterious  about  them.  They  are  not 
different  in  kind  and  origin  from  other  inherited 
mechanisms.  Being  merely  urges  to  action,  they 
are  vague  enough  to  move  in  any  chosen  direction. 
A  perfect  organism  would  seek  to  realize  inherited 
goals,  but  find  them  by  means  of  sense  perceptions. 
This  complete  adjustment  may  have  held  in  the 
animal  world.  Then  life-urges  and  the  nervous 
mechanisms  worked  together.  The  ends  are 
reached  and  life  preserved  even  if  the  road  wastes 
a  vast  number  of  individuals.  Be  this  as  it  may 
there  is  not  a  good  co-ordination  of  the  inner  and 
the  outer  in  the  case  of  man.  There  is  a  gap 
between  vague  life-urges  and  everyday  experience 
which,  if  not  filled  by  extraordinary  events,  leaves 
the  life-urges  in  too  vague  a  form  to  be  of  prac- 
tical use. 

The  gap  is  filled  either  by  striking  events  which 
blend  with  the  life-urges  and  tlms  make  them  con- 
crete, or  by  the  destruction  of  inferior  complexes 
through  which  the  level  of  the  current  experience 
is  raised  to  a  point  nearer  the  ideal.  Most  men 
experience  conversion  even  if  not  related  to  reli- 
gious thought.  In  every  case  some  inferior  com- 
plex is  broken. 

A  similar  relief  from  inferior  complexes  is  ob- 
tained by  sudden  dramatic  scenes  arousing  intense 
emotion.  A  new  view  of  nature,  a  masterpiece  of 
literature,  a  new  form  of  art  undermining  some 
inferior  complex,  may  shift  the  control  of  conduct 
to  some  other  group  of  motives.  Striking  conver- 
sions such  as  Paul  underwent  are  a  real  psychic 
phenomenon.  A  youthful  repression  had  thwarted 
a  natural  growth  of  his  art  complexes.    It  needed 


330  MUD  HOLLOW 

a  visual  shock  to  undermine  them.  He  made  this 
possible  by  the  long  run  which  exhausted,  and  a 
vigorous  recovery  which  brought  elation.  To 
these  add  the  view  of  nature  which  he  had  never 
before  experienced  and  the  elements  of  a  con- 
version are  co-ordinated.  This  may  be  a  rough 
road  to  conversion,  but  it  is  a  real  one. 

The  day  before  the  Professor's  illumination  he 
had  chased  the  rebel  bands  across  a  valley.  He 
fell  asleep  from  sheer  exhaustion.  Sleep  rejuve- 
nates, then  the  cloud  stimulus  permits  the  trans- 
formation of  mere  elation  into  objective  forms. 
Paul's  test  was  more  severe.  It  matters  not  at 
what  point  he  fell  from  exhaustion,  for  will  and 
body  did  their  full  work.  Sleep  and  food  bring 
the  tingle  of  emotion,  then  with  nature's  aid  the 
rising  flood  of  internal  emotion  assumes  an  objec- 
tive form.  This  is  the  essence  of  illumination 
however  induced.  It  is  the  transformation  of  the 
vague  surge  of  emotion  into  the  more  definite 
forms  of  cloud  and  sky.  Both  blood  and  nature 
must  be  at  their  best  to  permit  this  fusion.  It 
comes  when  favored  by  circumstances.  Skeptics 
may  deny  the  interpretation  but  the  fact  is  above 
their  reach. 

15 

Genetic  Psychology 

The  preceding  discussion  has  been  confined  to 
particular  points  with  which  the  reader  is  familiar 
or  at  least  the  facts  can  be  found  in  any  popular 
treatise.  There  are,  however,  many  who  desire 
a  more  connected  view  than  isolated  examples 
afford.  With  such  an  exposition  there  are  diffi- 
culties, partly  from  the  incompleteness  of  science 
and  partly  from  the  controversies  which  partizan 
schools  of  thought  have  provoked.    The  reader's 


GENETIC  PSYCHOLOGY  331 

interest  should  lie  in  genetic  psychology.  He  may 
not  hold  the  recapitulation  theory  but  he  does 
know  that  the  order  of  development  has  much  to 
do  with  the  character  of  individuals.  Current 
psychology  shows  little  of  this  interest.  Each 
school  has  certain  doctrines  to  defend  and  others 
to  expose.  The  order,  if  not  the  content,  of  discus- 
sion is  fixed  by  these  needs. 

There  are  many  varieties,  but  two  schools  dom- 
inate current  thought.  To  the  older  the  content 
of  consciousness  is  the  main  concern.  The  newer 
school  call  themselves  behaviorists,  but  a  better 
contrast  is  made  by  calling  them  altrospective. 
They  judge  of  themselves  by  what  they  see  of 
others;  while  introspective  thinkers  judge  others 
by  what  they  see  in  themselves.  Both  methods 
are  legitimate  but  when  carried  to  an  extrem.e  oc- 
casion bitter  controversies.  In  contrast  to  these 
the  genesist  starts  with  the  origin  of  traits,  avoid- 
ing analysis  until  the  sequences  of  life  are  estab- 
lished. The  objective  and  subjective  can  thus  be 
related  without  any  falsification  of  either  element. 

The  original  reactions  of  life  to  its  viron  are 
not  instincts  nor  even  reflexes ;  they  are  tropisms, 
induced  by  the  medium  in  Avhich  the  animal  exists. 
Heat,  light  and  other  elemental  forces  create 
movements  before  the  being  has  the  organic  struc- 
tures to  perform  them.  These  movements  con- 
tinue so  long  as  the  external  agent  persists ;  they 
cease  with  its  subsidence.  Each  physical  force, 
helping  elemental  life  to  perform  its  task,  serves 
as  a  stimulus  to  push  life  along  to  a  point  where 
inherited  mechanisms  take  their  place.  These 
mechanisms  objectively  observed  are  instincts. 
They  replace  the  tropisms  on  which  movement 
originally  depended.  In  addition  to  these  natural 
sources  of  movement  there  are  many  acquired 
antecedents  which  are  designated  as  habits,  cus- 
toms or  traditions.     A  later  term,   complex,  is 


332  MUD  HOLLOW 

better.  It  makes  plain  their  origin  and  shows 
how  each  complex  is  not  merely  acquired  fact  but 
also  has  hidden  in  it  some  forces  which  are  either 
instinctive  or  tropic.  From  the  standpoint  of  be- 
havior, tropisms,  instincts  and  complexes  make 
the  classes  into  which  all  objective  conduct  can 
be  arranged.  Without  any  appeal  to  conscious- 
ness every  act  seems  thus  readily  accounted  for. 
Introspection  should  not  run  counter  to  these 
fundamental  considerations,  yet  it  is  so  distort- 
ed by  a  confusion  of  ideas  that  a  seeming  oppo- 
sition exists. 

Introspective  philosophy,  having  a  long  his- 
torical growth,  has  never  been  subjected  to  the 
pruning  which  modern  science  demands.  Many 
antiquated  concepts  are  thus  retained.  It  should 
be  remembered  that  mind  is  a  consequence,  not 
the  antecedent,  of  bodily  activities.  It  strength- 
ens and  classifies  what  already  exists,  but  never 
creates.  Mental  classification  must,  therefore, 
correspond  to  that  of  body  activities  as  revealed 
in  behavior.  To  make  the  contrast  of  sense, 
understanding  and  reason  fundamental  in  intro- 
spective psychology  is  to  ignore  this  need.  Reason 
and  understanding  have  no  place  in  observed  con- 
duct, whether  measured  by  introspective  or  by 
altrospective  methods.  They  are  merely  hypo- 
theses to  account  for  observed  facts,  which  ac- 
countancy they  fail  to  fulfill.  Conduct  is  deter- 
mined by  behavior.  The  introspective  elements 
merely  intensify  conduct;  they  never  originate  it. 

On  this  basis  the  relation  of  the  inner  with 
the  outer  impulses  is  simplified.  The  ele- 
ments in  observed  behavior  are  tropisms,  in- 
stincts and  complexes.  The  corresponding  in- 
ternal elements  are  emotion,  thought  patterns  and 
associations.  The  emotions  are  the  conscious  re- 
flexes of  tropic  activity.  The  thought  patterns 
represent  the  effects  of  heredity  mechanically  ex- 


GENETIC  PSYCHOLOGY  333 

pressed.  Associations  are  the  added  experience 
elements  which  correspond  to  the  complexes  ob- 
served in  behavior. 

The  statement  that  emotions  are  tropic  reflexes 
of  bodily  action  needs  amplification,  because  the 
thought  is  not  yet  generally  recognized.  Body 
action  is  intensified  by  a  gland  action  which  throws 
hormones  into  the  blood.  They  are  sent  not  mere- 
ly where  wanted  but  wherever  the  blood  flows. 
Their  action  in  consciousness  is  emotion.  It  is  an 
old  problem  to  decide  whether  action  precedes  and 
causes  emotion  or  emotion,  coming  first,  intensifies 
action.  The  real  answer  is  that  both  are  conse- 
quence of  blood  hormones  which  have  their  ante- 
cedent in  gland  activity.  Anger  and  the  clenched 
fist  come  together  because  they  have  a  common 
cause. 

Introspection  cannot  observe  instincts.  They 
are  discovered  only  through  behavior  and  analy- 
sis. But  it  can  find  certain  sequences  of  thought 
which  have  the  same  regularity  of  action  which 
instincts  have.  Color,  form,  order  and  intensity 
are  bound  into  units  in  such  a  way  as  to  indicate 
that  the  combinations  are  inherited. 

The  problem  of  evolution  is  to  attach  to  each  in- 
herited instinct  a  tropic  blood  current  to  intensify 
its  action.  There  should  be  in  consciousness  an 
emotion — the  representative  of  tropic  action— for 
every  inherited  bodily  instinct.  Each  mechanism 
would  thereby  be  strengthened  and  have  its 
activity  increased  by  the  co-operation  of  blood 
hormones. 

If  mental  and  bodily  activity  are  to  harmonize, 
thought  processes  must  correspond  to  and  be  the 
index  of  the  sequences  through  which  the  body 
goes  in  its  evolution.  It  is  recognized  that  the 
sequences  of  personal  evolution  are  the  same  as 
that  of  race  evolution.  These  forces  ought  to  and 
in  part  at  least  have  wrought  the  same  result  on 
mental  processes,   which   should   have   identical 


334  MUD  HOLLOW 

stages  and  reflect  tlie  same  processes  that  per- 
sonal and  race  evolution  show.  The  inherited 
thought  patterns  would  thus  reflect  physical  pro- 
cesses and  make  thought  an  adjunct  to  the  phy- 
sical processes  observable  in  behavior,  and  cosmic 
evolution. 

The  reply  will  probably  be  that  this  is  not  so. 
Thought,  it  will  be  said,  does  more  than  reflect; 
it  creates  and  governs.  A  careful  analysis  shows 
that  the  two  statements  are  not  so  far  apart  as 
they  seem.  The  difference  is  not  so  much  in  the 
result  as  it  is  in  the  method  of  attaining  it.  All 
evolution  involves  a  fulfillment.  Each  striving 
reaches  out  to  something  beyond.  Evolution  thus 
has  an  order  and  a  goal.  Each  inheritance  is  a 
part  of  some  curve  which  reaches  toward  fulfill- 
ment. The  blind  mechanical  forces  are  the  uncon- 
scious means  by  which  evolution  proceeds.  The 
general  process  of  life  evolution  is  repeated  in 
the  life  of  each  individual.  What  the  race  has 
gone  through  in  millions  of  years  the  individual 
accomplishes  in  the  short  period  of  its  existence. 
It  does  more  than  this,  for  the  acquired  experience 
of  each  creature  takes  it  beyond  the  curve  which 
the  race  has  completed. 

Assuming  this  recapitulation  to  be  true  of  un- 
conscious animal  life,  the  same  facts  should  hold 
for  the  conscious  mental  life.  Its  processes  should 
repeat  the  history  of  the  race  in  a  vague  but  yet 
a  real  form.  The  difference  is  that  thought  pro- 
cesses move  through  the  history  of  the  race  more 
rapidly  than  the  individual.  What  the  race  has 
done  in  a  million  years  the  physical  individual 
does  in  fifty ;  this  the  conscious  mind  goes  through 
in  minutes.  A  thought  curve  has  all  the  elements 
of  race  and  individual  in  its  processes;  it  also 
reaches  by  its  experience  much  farther  ahead  of 
race  experience  than  does  the  individual  in  his 
physical  processes.     The   function   of  the  mind 


GENETIC  PSYCHOLOGY  335 

depends  on  these  facts.  Its  more  rapid  movement 
causes  it  to  pass  through  the  cosmic  stages  more 
rapidly  than  physical  processes  and  thus  to  antici- 
pate what  will  happen  as  they  evolve  by  slow  but 
natural  means.  By  anticipating,  thought  strength- 
ens the  tendency  of  the  life  processes  to  complete 
themselves  in  given  ways.  In  what  we  anticipate 
we  have  faith.  Thus  anticipation,  fulfillment  and 
faith  get  bound  together  and  through  their  union 
push  life  processes  along  faster  than  unconscious 
evolution  would  proceed.  Mental  evolution  can 
thus  be  related  to  body  processes.  The  mind  is 
emotional.  Its  forces  by  their  more  rapid  de- 
velopment become  anticipations  which  intensify 
life  processes.  What  the  body  w^ould  do  slowly, 
bunglingh^  and  inadequately,  mental  emotions  will 
Bo  intensify  as  to  create  immediate  effectiveness. 
The  mind  is  thus  an  intensifier  of  action,  not  its 
creator,  yet  through  its  power  of  anticipation  it 
becomes  the  director  of  human  action.  It  cannot 
transform  its  products  into  an  heredity  but  it  can 
hasten  the  bodily  processes  capable  of  inheritance. 
Thought  sequences  are  parts  of  the  life  curve 
along  which  bodily  and  physical  evolution  is  pro- 
ceeding. Every  thought  series  recapitulates  some 
if  not  the  whole  of  the  evolution  through  which 
life  has  gone.  Each  epoch  of  this  life  recapitulation 
has  some  thought  symbol  which  helps  to  intensify 
action.  If  the  thought  sequences  do  not  follow 
life  sequences,  some  distorting  complex  has  turned 
them  out  of  a  natural  channel.  The  frequency 
with  which  these  inferior  complexes  occur  is  the 
cause  of  the  confusion  in  the  interpretation  of 
thought.  To  gain  simplicity  these  inferior  com- 
plexes based  on  disruptive  experience  must  be 
discovered  and  displaced.  After  this  is  done  the 
recapitulation  involved  in  each  thought  series  will 
manifest  itself  through  a  comparison  with  what 
happens  in  the  life  series  of  the  individual  and 


336  MUD  HOLLOW 

that  of  the  race.  Just  as  in  the  individual  life 
sequence  some  of  the  steps  are  obscured  or  lost — 
just  as  in  the  earth 's  crust  some  of  its  strata  can- 
not be  found  in  particular  locations — so  particular 
thought  sequences  suppress  or  dislocate  individual 
steps.  Yet  the  series  is  there  if  we  look  for  it; 
its  parts  are  seldom  dislocated  except  for  the 
influence  of  inferior  complexes  which  arise  from 
adverse  experience. 

Logical  processes  start  with  a  dilemma.  Next 
comes  an  isolation  of  the  good  and  bad.  The  bad 
is  then  eliminated,  through  which  relief  comes 
and  the  good  restored.  This  is  the  elemental 
struggle  of  all  life.  Millions  of  times  it  has  been 
repeated  in  diverse  forms  until  its  essence  is  as 
much  a  part  of  mental  heredity  as  of  the  body  or 
of  life  in  general. 

Each  part  of  this  mental  heredity  is  reflected 
in  consciousness  by  specific  combination  of  color, 
form  or  intensity  not  definite  enough  to  be  guide 
yet  capable  of  becoming  the  symbol  of  some  ele- 
ment needed  by  experience  to  direct  life  along 
normal  channels.  Superior  complexes  are  formed 
which  have  considerable  directive  power.  When 
men  act  there  is  before  them  some  symbol  which, 
if  followed,  points  the  path  to  success.  This  is 
due  to  the  more  rapid  movement  of  thought 
through  its  natural  sequences,  which  enables  it  to 
anticipate  and  in  a  measure  visualize  the  steps 
that  the  more  slowly  moving  bodily  processes 
should  take. 

If  the  analysis  is  carried  a  step  farther  than 
mere  symbolization,  the  background  of  color,  form 
and  intensity  can  be  so  isolated  as  to  show  that 
they  are  effects  which  emotion  is  capable  of  pro- 
ducing. The  symbol  thus  bringing  emotional  in- 
tensification into  definite  relation  to  action  be- 
comes a  guide  to  normal  conduct. 

To  isolate  the  emotional  symbol  from  the  ex- 


GENETIC  PSYCHOLOGY  337 

perience  element,  night  dreams  are  usually  taken 
as  models.  The  same  movement  takes  place  in 
day  dreams.  In  my  case  they  are  more  easily  in- 
terpreted. The  difference  is  that  the  steps  are 
more  visible  in  night  dreams,  while  in  day  dreams 
the  emphasis  is  more  on  fulfillment.  The  prophet 
is  a  day  dreamer  whose  thought  sequences  rush 
along  to  a  fulfillment  which  the  body  is  not  yet 
able  to  attain.  He  often  guides  successfully,  be- 
cause his  thought  processes  run  so  true  to  life 
processes. 

I  shall  give  a  dream  to  illustrate  this.  Looking 
up,  I  saw  some  black  spots  in  the  sky  which,  en- 
larging as  they  approached,  seemed  to  indicate  a 
storm.  Then  the  cloud  broke  up  into  parts  and 
became  a  long  train  of  cars  with  a  fierce  locomo- 
tive at  the  head.  This  came  straight  at  me.  I 
escaped  by  a  sudden  spring.  The  train,  rushing 
back,  proved  to  be  a  passenger  train  full  of  people. 
Suddenly  turning  in  the  other  direction,  I  saw 
several  bright  spots  in  the  sky  which  aggregated 
as  before,  but  when  breaking  up  proved  to  be  a 
herd  of  fine  horses.  A  noble  stallion  led,  bridled 
and  saddled.  I  rushed  forward  to  mount.  But 
as  I  did  I  awoke. 

I  interpret  this  dream  to  be  an  endeavor  of  emo- 
tional forces  to  arouse  my  dormant  muscular 
powers.  They  first  formed  as  a  danger  but  when 
this  failed  they  reformed  as  an  escape  series.  If 
this  had  failed  to  awaken  they  would  have  prob- 
ably reformed  as  a  sex  series  and  from  that  gone 
on  to  a  fulfillment  or  to  a  self-glorification  series. 

Such  is  the  cosmic  process  as  it  stands  today 
and  on  the  basis  of  which  all  life  interpretations 
rest.  Mental  force  cannot  alter  life  processes ;  it 
can  only  anticipate  them.  But  it  can  eradicate 
inferior  complexes  and  substitute  the  superior  in 
their  place.  The  psychology  showing  how  this 
can  be  done  opens  up  a  new  era  of  progress. 


338  MUD  hollow: 

16 

The  Sense  of  Sin 

Every  thought  process  has  an  antecedent — some 
physical  change  which  manifests  itself  as  be- 
havior. What  this  physical  reality  is  may  be 
open  to  doubt  or  badly  interpreted  but  all  the 
same  it  is  both  real  and  explainable.  Fundamental 
to  this  explanation  is  the  co-ordination  of  instinct 
to  emotion.  The  instincts  direct ;  the  emotions  in- 
tensify. The  instincts  are  mechanisms  for  par- 
ticular ends;  the  emotions  are  urges  which  flow 
to  all  parts — at  least  many  parts  are  aroused  by 
them.  The  presence  and  effectiveness  of  instincts 
can  be  measured  by  objective  means.  Not  so 
with  the  emotions:  the  decay  or  the  blocking  of 
their  outlets  merely  turns  them  into  some  unex- 
pected channel.  The  physical  form  of  emotion  is 
hard  to  trace.  It  often  appears  without  apparent 
antecedents  and  is  thus  readily  misinterpreted. 
Still  it  has  a  physical  core  which,  if  understood, 
brings  it  under  the  reign  of  law.  Two  great  prob- 
lems each  species  must  face  and  solve :  the  preser- 
vation of  life  and  its  reproduction.  Unless  all 
modern  biology  is  in  error,  reproduction  is  an 
easy  matter  in  the  animal  world.  Too  many,  not 
too  few,  are  born.  Behavior  is  thus  determined 
by  the  struggle  for  self-preservation.  Instinctive 
action  preserves  life;  anger  intensifies  action. 
Every  angry  attitude  from  the  bristling  of  hair  to 
the  straining  of  muscles  has  some  advantageous 
effect  on  survival.  The  angry  animal  is  thus  a 
unit ;  every  part  is  co-ordinated  for  the  great  end 
of  life  preservation.  Anger  creates  personality; 
makes  for  a  nervous,  unified  control.  Each  step 
in  its  development  brings  the  animal  nearer  the 
human  stage. 


THE  SENSE  OF  SIN  339 

Human  psychology  reveals  a  reversal  of  this 
primal  tendency.  Men  have  a  double  not  a  single 
personality.  They  cannot  co-ordinate  their  pow- 
ers in  the  way  of  an  angry  animal.  Two  forces 
have  come  in  to  make  this  change — fear  and  sex. 
They  represent  not  the  increase  of  co-ordination — 
but  its  thwarting.  The  essence  of  this  alteration 
can  be  stated  by  saying  that  man  is  born  with  an 
instinctive  love  of  combat,  while  trying  to  turn 
himself  to  a  disciple  of  love.  Born  as  a  lion  he 
wants  to  be  a  dove.  Love  as  behavior  is  not  primal. 
It  thwarts  activity ;  it  does  not  re-enforce  instinc- 
tive action.  The  life-preserving  forces  have  come 
into  opposition  mth  the  life-reproducing.  As  an- 
ger and  the  other  aggressive  impulses  have  de- 
clined, traditions,  tabus  and  morals  have  arisen 
to  replace  them.  The  acquired  traits  replace  the 
instincts  on  which  race  preservation  depends.  The 
superficial  struggle  seems  thus  to  be  between  mor- 
ality and  sex  when  in  reality  it  is  between  the 
preservation  of  life  and  its  reproduction. 

From  this  view  anger  is  the  primal  outlet  of 
emotion.  Against  whatever  causes  pain  there  is 
an  angry  response  which  intensifies  and  utilizes 
every  organ.  Simple  animal  behavior  is  thus  a 
wrathful  reaction.  The  complex  processes  of  be- 
havior begin  when  some  repression  shuts  the 
source  of  pain  out  of  consciousness.  There  is 
then  an  emotional  discharge  with  no  behavior  out- 
let ;  the  emotion  is  active  but  the  directing  instinct 
is  absent.  The  glands  pour  out  exciting  fluids  but 
the  muscles  do  not  respond  Tvith  effective  action. 
They  thus  create  mental  instead  of  physical  ac- 
tivity, which  runs  through  the  life  series  and 
pushes  to  the  front  some  of  its  symbols.  Action 
is  thus  directed  against  the  symbol,  not  against 
the  real  cause  of  the  discomfort.  Thus  is  the 
emotion  of  hate  directed  not  against  the  antece- 
dents of  pain  but  against  some  symbol  of  them. 


340  MUD  HOLLOW 

There  is  a  repression,  a  mental  symbolization  and 
then  an  intense  action  directed  against  the  symbol. 
If  crops  fail,  the  thought  processes  of  men,  sym- 
bolizing their  government  as  the  cause,  obtain 
immense  satisfaction  in  its  overthrow.  If  inter- 
national trade  is  obstructed,  thought  processes 
may  symbolize  the  Germans  as  the  cause  and  bil- 
lions are  expended  in  their  overthrow.  In  a  like 
manner  Semitic  or  Negro  hatred  arises.  The 
mobs  who  burn  Negroes  symbolize  them  as  the 
cause  of  their  woes  and  get  relief  in  barbaric 
action. 

This  hate  behavior  is  manifest  in  a  thousand 
different  ways,  each  of  which  has  the  same  outline 
— a  repression,  an  unexplained  emotion  felt  in 
some  unexpected  quarter,  a  thought  symbolization 
of  the  life  struggle  which  creates  an  object  of  hate 
and  finally  an  intense  concentrated  action  against 
the  symbol  of  the  assumed  evil.  The  100  per  cent. 
American  is  doing  no  differently  than  the  South- 
ern mob  burning  a  negro.  He  symbolizes  the 
hyphen,  the  Hun  or  the  pacifist  as  the  sources  of 
his  subconscious  woe  and  acts  accordingly.  Nor 
is  there  much  difference  between  a  lynching  mob 
and  a  group  of  reformers  turning  rascals  out  of 
a  city  government.  The  mayor  and  the  boss  are 
devils;  the  whole  world  will  be  remade  by  their 
overthrow.  Hence  the  intense  activity  and  fero- 
cious zeal — resulting  in  a  complete  collapse  when 
the  pent-up  energy  is  expended.  Then  years  of 
sleep  are  followed  by  a  new  outburst  on  similar 
lines.  There  is  immediate  satisfaction  in  the  over- 
throw of  Satan  but  no  enduring  results. 

Hate  is  thus  the  first  and  most  elemental  series 
of  symbols.  A  second  series  is  that  of  sacrifice, 
where  the  initial  struggle  is  followed  by  defeat 
instead  of  victory.  The  defeat  however  is  tem- 
porary, as  a  transformation  follows  through  which 
life  is  restored  and  final  victory  attained.    This 


THE  SENSE  OF  SIN  341 

transformation  series  is  the  most  complete  yet 
evolved  and  to  it  the  masses  resort  to  gain  com- 
pensation for  their  misery.  All  thought  on  tliis 
basis  emphasizes  the  need  of  struggle  even  if  it 
is  hopeless.  Sacrifice  is  thus  an  incentive  to  ac- 
tion. None  are  so  valiant  as  those  who  expect 
a  death  which,  losing  its  sting,  is  the  harbinger 
of  victory.  The  thought  series  and  the  muscular 
series  have  thus  developed  in  harmony ;  with  them 
have  come  an  integration  of  behavior  and  a 
growth  of  character. 

A  third  series  of  symbols  strives  for  fulfillment. 
The  mind,  going  beyond  struggle,  reaches  a  goal 
which  emphasizes  fulfillment.  This  is  the  field  of 
the  prophet,  the  seer  and  the  poet.  They  make  the 
beyond  vivid,  but  for  behavior  they  dwell  on 
struggle,  since  only  by  struggle  is  the  route 
cleared.  Let  a  prophet  describe  heaven  or  a  poet 
picture  Paradise— and  talk  gets  stale  with  great 
rapidity.  The  mind  sticks  to  struggle  and  gets 
more  satisfaction  out  of  beating  the  devil  than 
from  entering  the  golden  gate.  Sacrifice  thus 
aids  struggle  and  makes  an  outlet  for  energy, 
which  tends  to  restore  the  equilibrium  which  de- 
feat would  destroy. 

From  these  simple  processes  to  sex  is  but  a 
step,  yet  the  step  is  a  reversal.  Sex  tends  toward 
a  divided  personality  and  thus  makes  the  struggle 
internal,  one  group  of  processes  being  set  against 
another.  There  is  a  series  of  reproductive  sym- 
bols, but  if  compared  mth  those  of  struggle  they 
are  less  distinct,  so  much  so  that  a  love  series 
cannot  be  made  vivid  except  when  put  in  the  form 
of  a  struggle.  Every  novelist  plays  on  struggle 
and  leaves  fulfillment  to  be  inferred.  A  purely 
sex  novel  would  be  too  tame  to  read.  The  cause 
of  this  is  that  in  the  early  stages  of  evolution  sex 
impulses,  aroused  by  physical  pleasure,  had  little 
relation  to  thought.    They  became  objects  of  at- 


342  MUD  HOLLOW 

tention  only  in  the  higher  forms  of  animal  life  and 
hence  as  behavior  follow  the  lines  already  blazed 
by  struggle. 

There  are  two  fundamental  types  of  behavior, 
that  induced  by  the  co-ordination  of  nerve  and 
muscle,  and  those  due  to  the  symbolized  process 
of  reaching  ends  by  means  of  thought.  Both  of 
these  are  well  grooved  and  create  definite  forms 
of  behavior.  Either  an  animal  gets  wrathy  and 
through  struggle  attains  victory  or  his  mind  cre- 
ates a  symbolized  process  by  which  defeat  and 
death  lead  to  a  transformation  wliich  assures  vic- 
tory. The  type  of  transformation  symbolized  by 
thought  is  based  not  on  natural  reproduction  but 
on  miracle.  Primitive  men  did  not  realize  the 
connection  between  sex  and  birth.  To  them  birth 
was  a  miracle  not  at  all  related  to  natural  events. 
On  this  basis  thought  processes  have  been  built 
and  when  built  are  impossible  to  alter.  The 
crooked  ways  in  which  nature  has  gone  in  carving 
its  road  are  followed  by  each  generation,  even  if 
it  logically  knows  of  better. 

For  this  reason  sex  is  an  intruder  in  mental 
processes.  Men  hate  the  natural  evolution  pro- 
cesses even  if  they  must  accept  them.  When  they 
dream  they  leave  them  out,  falling  back  on  the 
good  old  series  their  ancestors  formed.  They 
like  virgin  births;  prefer  to  have  gods  for  an- 
cestors than  mere  men.  The  opposition  to  sex  lies 
deeper  than  the  traditions,  tabus,  and  moral  re- 
straints which  society  imposes.  It  is  cast  out  be- 
cause it  is  not  one  of  the  vital  symbols  by  which 
men  are  carried  by  sacrifice,  through  death  to^  vic- 
tory. Men  must  cease  to  love  sacrifice  and  mirac- 
ulous regeneration  before  they  can  think  in  terms 
of  natural  reproduction.  They  hate  it  for  the 
same  reason  that  a  child  hates  the  omission  of 
some  familiar  feature  of  a  popular  tale.    The  old 


THE  SENSE  OF  SIN  343 

tale  fits  their  thought  processes  while  the  abridged 
narrative  jars  by  its  omissions. 

Those  who  have  mysterious  emotions  and  urges 
usually  give  them  a  religious  interpretation, 
claiming  they  come  from  God.  A  simpler  method 
accepts  the  facts  but  relates  them  to  their  bodily 
antecedents.  Many  parts  are  so  degenerate  that 
movement  is  no  longer  possible.  When  a  strong 
emotional  urge  is  excited  the  blood  flows  to  these 
degenerate  parts  which  cannot  act,  or  if  active, 
have  no  effect  on  muscular  behavior.  Men  thus 
have  mysterious  urges  which  they  wrongly  inter- 
pret. If  the  bodily  location  of  these  urges  is 
sought  it  will  be  found  to  be  in  some  disused  part. 
Physically  they  are  endeavors  to  move  parts  which 
to  more  primitive  animals  were  organs  of  defense. 
The  currents  run  along  the  path  anger  ran,  and 
attempt  to  arouse  the  same  action.  The  phenome- 
non is  thus  that  of  blocked  emotion  and  as  a  result, 
more  or  less  disruption  of  personality.  These 
blocked  emotions  which  have  no  outlet  seem  ob- 
jective because  most  of  the  anger  manifestations 
relate  to  surface  parts.  They  might  be  called  in- 
adequate attempts  to  bristle  or  to  protect  external 
parts.  But  the  nerves  in  these  regions  impart  a 
sense  of  objectivity  and  hence  give  an  effective 
mental  interpretation. 

An  experience  while  writing  this  section  is  illus- 
trative. I  had  said  something  which  made  me  feel 
small.  My  blood  boiled  and  cold  chills  ran  down 
my  back.  All  day  long  strange  injects  would  sud- 
denly occur  in  my  thought.  Its  usual  currents 
were  disturbed  by  sudden  self -denunciations  which 
seemed  to  come  from  some  objective  source.  It 
was  as  though  a  censor  were  condemning  me. 
My  muscles  suddenly  twitched,  creating  a  feeling 
as  if  someone  were  pulling.  The  curious  thing 
was  the  seemingly  objective  nature  of  injects.  I 
do  not  wonder  that  people  mistake  them  for  ob- 


344  MUD  HOLLOW 

jective  facts.  The  voice,  the  movement,  the  con- 
demnation are  real  physical  facts  but  of  different 
origin  from  what  they  seem.  It  is  those  who  do 
not  have  such  injects  who  are  defective,  not  those 
who  have,  but  misinterpret  them. 

This  misinterpretation  is  important  because 
from  it  arises  the  sense  of  sin  upon  which  so  many 
of  our  abnormal  concepts  depend.  Emotion  is 
blocked,  strangely  vague  feelings  arise.  The  mind 
is  confused  by  multiple  tendencies  none  of  which 
can  command  action.  There  is  thus  a  multiple 
personality,  each  of  which  strives  to  dominate. 
This  inaction  makes  the  sufferer  subjective;  in 
thought  he  turns  what  would  be  an  objective  strug- 
gle between  self  and  something  external  into  an 
internal  struggle  between  the  various  subjective 
personalities.  The  sense  of  sin  is  a  thought  move- 
ment which  tends  to  purge  the  self  of  these  con- 
tradictions. The  first  effects  are  a  feeling  of  self- 
reproach  and  bewilderment.  The  strange  feelings 
seem  to  be  a  self-condemnation.  Their  seeming 
objectivity  indicates  a  relation  to  some  external 
power  from  which  the  condemnation  comes.  Hence 
a  new  thought  series  arises  which  is  the  essence 
of  all  religion.  There  is  a  tempter,  an  avenger,  a 
helplessness,  a  condemnation,  a  savior  and  finally 
a  redemption. 

As  most  men  are  in  a  measure  abnormal  and 
often  meet  unexplainable  adversities,  the  sense  of 
sin  gets  a  place  in  world  thought,  and  is  that  to 
which  all  resort  when  unexpected  adversity  arises. 
There  is  emotion  and  mystery ;  imagined  misdeeds 
rise  up  in  condemnation,  followed  by  a  vague  de- 
pression which  distorts  antecedent  events.  The 
seeming  objectivity  of  what  is  internal,  the  con- 
fusion of  mental  pictures  with  objective  facts,  the 
re-living  of  past  events  seen  in  a  false  perspective, 
intensify  the  already  overactive  bodily  processes, 
create  new  stresses  and  add  to  the  flame.    Such  is 


THE  SENSE  OF  SIN  345 

the  initial  result  of  abnormal  stresses,  from  which 
life  is  a  terror  until  an  outlet  is  found. 

Sense  of  sin  is  alf  the  worse  when  divorced  from 
religion.  To  those  who  have  strange,  mysterious 
feelings  an  outlet  is  readily  found  if  they  believe 
in  the  orthodox  plan  of  salvation.  With  conscience 
as  a  guide  the  old  equilibrium  can  be  readily  re- 
stored and  normal  life  resumed.  But  if  the  plan 
of  salvation  be  not  accepted,  if  conscience  be 
blunted  because  its  admonitions  are  not  applic- 
able to  new  conditions,  if  the  blood  carries  its 
hormones  to  unusual  parts  and  arouses  an  activity 
which  the  instincts  are  incapable  of  directing,  then 
depression  and  the  accompanying  sense  of  sin  fall 
like  a  blight  from  which  there  is  no  relief.  There 
is  a  blind  call  to  action,  a  mysterious  woe  and  no 
outlet.  The  mind  has  no  track  to  otfer  which  will 
bring  emotion  and  instinct  into  harmony. 

That  this  is  not  a  mere  fancy,  the  life  of  an 
American  girl  is  evidence.  No  group  were  ever 
so  well  protected  from  evil  and  hardship  as  Amer- 
ican girls.  Their  work  is  easy;  their  pleasures 
abundant;  their  indulgences  are  of  the  sort  that 
thwart  muscular  growth.  A  sugar  diet  creates 
emotion,  yet  the  muscular  response  is  merely  a 
laugh  or  some  thrill  of  joy  having  its  source  in 
unused  organs.  The  hero  comes  at  the  expected 
time.  There  is  no  epoch  of  toil  or  depression  to 
start  currents  of  thought  leading  to  woe.  Girls 
are  the  joy  and  ornament  of  American  life.  They 
are  keen,  bold,  ambitious.  Could  such  a  life  be 
lived  it  would  be  Paradise,  yet  few  escape  the 
rocks  which  project  themselves  in  later  life.  To 
most  women  the  thirties  are  a  dreary  waste,  a  de- 
stroyer of  illusions,  an  overthrow  of  ideals,  a  ship- 
wrecking of  plans. 

The  causes  of  this  are  not  far  to  seek.  The 
protection  of  girls  is  complete,  but  woman  must 
face  life 's  storms  in  the  same  crude  fashion  as  did 


346  MUD  HOLLOW 

her  forbears.  She  tries  to  detour — only  to  find 
her  way  blocked.  She  is  thus  forced  into  the  same 
old  rut  other  ages  have  creased  and  finds  it  too 
deep  for  escape.  They  say  in  automobiling  the 
rule  is  not  to  try  to  get  out  of  ruts ;  and  so  it  is 
with  woman  after  the  freshness  of  youth  is  gone 
and  paternal  protection  has  lapsed  by  the  passing 
of  time. 

The  tragedy  of  this  situation  is  the  suddenness 
and  the  helplessness  of  a  situation  for  which  no 
preparation  has  been  made.  The  emotions  have 
no  outlet.  The  weakened  muscles  do  not  respond 
to  the  urges  of  the  sugar-excited  blood.  The  black- 
est woes  replace  bright  promises  the  bliss  of 
earlier  years  evoked.  To  a  woman  the  distance 
from  heaven  to  hell  is  not  far,  and  the  glide  is 
steep.  Courage  of  youth  fades  to  the  gloom  of 
despondency.  Why  does  the  happy,  ambitious  girl 
of  twenty  become  the  nervous  wreck  of  thirty? 
Why  does  she  become  sex  instead  of  reaching  the 
goal  of  fulfillment?  Eeasons  may  be  given  which 
fit  specific  cases,  but  after  all  the  outline  is  the 
same.  Her  dreams  have  proved  illusions.  She  is 
in  a  pit  out  of  which  there  is  no  escape ;  her  emo- 
tions and  her  muscles  are  at  discord ;  her  thought 
processes  fitted  for  a  protected  youth  are  hin- 
drances rather  than  helps  in  the  new  situation. 
Her  heroes  fail  to  deliver  when  dragons  appear. 
Thrown  on  the  bare  rocks  by  sudden  adversity, 
nothing  remains  but  to  groan  and  suffer. 

This  discussion  is  to  make  plain  the  action  of 
Ruth  in  her  fall  from  celestial  light  to  demon- 
loaded  darkness.  According  to  her  father's  no- 
tions Ruth  had  led  a  free  life.  She  could  do  as 
she  pleased;  no  woman  traditions  restrained 
her  fancy  in  a  realm  which  had  no  limit. 
Such  a  life  looks  ideal;  it  is  so  if  its  condi- 
tions continue.  But  her  father  had  made  no 
allowance  for  adversity.    Men  and  women  were 


THE  WISH  347 

exactly  alike  in  her  father's  philosophy  and  hence 
the  realization  of  sex  difference  did  not  arise  until 
she  plunged  into  midnight  darkness.  Her  reli- 
gion was  of  fulfillment  not  of  sacrifice.  Under 
these  conditions  every  figure  in  her  galaxy  of 
heroes  would  be  turned  into  demons.  The  realiza- 
tion of  error  will  smite  her  as  a  consuming  fire. 
She  has  all  the  terror  from  which  a  million  for- 
bears have  suffered  but  none  of  their  trains  of 
thought  which  would  show  the  way  out.  She  has 
the  sense  of  sin  but  lacks  the  sense  of  forgiveness. 
Perhaps  I  exaggerate  the  mental  pictures  which 
arise  in  her  agony  and  the  fierceness  of  her  sud- 
denly aroused  sense  of  sin,  but  it  is  true  enough 
to  represent  the  state  into  which  thousands  of 
women  fall  when  they  strike  the  rocks  of  advers- 
ity. The  smooth  waters  in  which  youth  sails  give 
no  warning  of  storms  on  the  open  sea. 

A  lone  woman  in  a  stern  world  is  helpless ;  her 
failure  inevitable.  Does  she  sin,  or  the  world? 
It  makes  no  difference.  She  suffers,  yields  and 
offers  herself  a  sacrifice  for  the  next  generation. 


17 

The  Wish 

My  position  will  find  some  sympathizers;  yet 
many  more  will  instinctively  reject  it.  If  people 
are  not  very  bad  nor  yet  very  good,  if  progress 
comes  at  the  rate  of  three  inches  a  century,  what 
is  there  to  do  but  sit  on  the  fence  and  watch  the 
passing  show?  Who  wants  to  live  in  a  world 
moving  with  the  precision  of  planets  and  as  little 
under  human  control?  These  misapprehensions 
are  hard  to  remove.  The  lion  in  the  way  is  emo- 
tion ;  unfortunately  it  is  a  real  lion,  not  a  painted 
scarecrow.    It  will  not  do  to  deride  emotion  as  do 


348  MUD  HOLLOW 

rationalists.  Emotions  are  of  prime  importance 
yet  easily  misdirected.  They  are  vague,  inherited 
urges  which  because  of  their  vagueness  are  readily 
distorted  and  put  to  bad  uses.  The  mere  twist 
of  a  word  may  send  them  in  a  wrong  direction. 
There  is  unfortunately  a  whole  string  of  mis- 
directing words — material,  mechanical,  fatalistic, 
circumstantial,  environmental — each  of  which  has 
an  imputation  arousing  emotional  opposition.  To 
circumscribe,  to  environ,  to  wall  in,  imply  un- 
surmountable  obstacles.  Both  the  leading  groups 
of  thinkers  use  these  terms,  the  one  because  their 
philosophy  demands  that  life  be  made  subordinate 
to  physical  processes ;  the  other  because  anything 
arousing  antagonistic  emotion  helps  them  to  cast 
aspersion  on  what  they  dislike. 

The  picture  both  groups  draw  is  of  the  race 
deep  in  a  pit,  behind  high  walls,  confined  by  locks 
and  keys.  To  avoid  this  emotional  opposition  I 
use  the  words  viron  and  vironal,  which  merely 
mean  outer,  but  do  not  connote  any  barrier  which 
humanity  cannot  pass.  The  real  position  of  men 
is  not  in  dark  cellars  without  doors,  nor  within  the 
walls  of  some  dungeon — ^but  rather  in  an  open 
field  surrounded  not  by  a  w^all  but  by  a  variety  of 
obstacles!  They  cannot  escape  across  the  lake  be- 
cause they  have  no  boat,  across  the  river  because 
they  cannot  swim.  To  escape  they  must  trans- 
form themselves  or  increase  their  powers.  This 
is  a  slow  process  of  striving,  wishing  and  willing 
— some  obstacles  will  yield  if  they  persist.  ^  But 
this  only  becomes  manifest  after  many  seemingly 
absurd  adventures. 

Can  mechanisms  make  themselves  or  do  they 
imply  a  maker?  This  is  the  problem  which  Paley 
propounded  and  with  which  naturalists  have 
joined  issue  at  the  wrong  point.  Paley  was  right 
in  asserting  that  a  mechanism  denotes  a  maker, 
that  intelligence  preceded  and  created  mechanical 


THE  WISH  349 

tools.  He  went  wrong  in  the  further  assumption 
that  the  maker  was  superior  to  the  mechanism  he 
made,  adding  as  he  did  that  the  maker  was  a 
single,  eternal,  higher  power  at  whose  bidding  the 
world  came  into  being.  But  this  error  does  not 
invalidate  his  initial  proposition.  Machines  are 
made:  they  are  the  result  of  intelligence  even  if 
the  intelligence  is  not  unified  nor  of  so  high  an 
order  as  Paley  assumed.  A  locomotive  was  made 
not  by  one  man  nor  by  a  single  act,  but  by  the 
push  of  a  multitude  of  men — stupid,  ignorant,  yet 
striving  for  better  means  of  locomotion.  The 
makers  of  mechanisms  are  of  a  lower  order  than 
those  who  use  them.  He  who  makes  a  machine 
pushes  mankind  above  himself.  Not  only  do  men 
reach  ends  more  quickly  but  they  also  think  better. 
The  lower  thus  makes  the  higher,  not  the  higher 
the  lower. 

This  fact,  so  plain  in  all  mechanical  contrivances, 
is  also  true  of  the  natural  mechanism  we  call 
heredity.  A  hand  is  not  the  contrivance  of  a 
superior  for  the  benefit  of  an  inferior,  but  the 
result  of  the  urge  of  a  million  inferior  beings 
for  a  better  grasp.  The  wish  for  efficient  action 
was  the  motive  moving  these  millions  to  trials 
which  eventually  ended  in  success.  A  constant 
wish  and  a  persistent  endeavor  added  little  by 
little  to  hand  efficiency  until  the  perfection  of  the 
human  hand  was  attained.  The  mechanism  of  the 
hand  is  thus  evidence  of  an  antecedent,  persistent 
wish.  A  stupid  inferior  created  his  intelligent 
successor.  The  quarrel  between  the  neo-Darwin- 
ians  and  the  Lamarckians  about  the  order  of  this 
progress  is  of  minor  importance.  It  may  be  dis- 
puted which  came  first,  the  alteration  in  the  germ 
cell  or  in  its  soma.  Yet  the  pressure  of  wish  can 
modify  either  both  in  turn  or  simultaneously.  It 
is  the  long  steady  pull  of  millions  of  persistent 


350  MUD  HOLLOW 

creatures  that  counts.     Nothing  can  block  their 
way  if  the  urge  for  change  is  continuous. 

The  problem  is  thus  not  one  of  germ  cell  and 
soma  but  of  the  antecedents  of  wish.  Whence 
came  they  and  who  is  their  father?  Here  again 
we  meet  confusion  because  of  the  belief  that  will 
is  something  supernatural,  an  outside,  eternal 
force  of  the  type  of  Paley's  watch-maker.  Will 
how^ever  is  not  thought,  but  directed  energy.  It  is 
a  compulsion  to  act  as  soon  as  surplus  energy 
accumulates.  It  must  find  an  outlet  in  movement 
and  this  movement,  persisted  in,  modifies  its  chan- 
nels of  exit  so  as  to  create  a  mechanism.  Each 
discharge  of  energy  tends  to  take  the  path  of  its 
predecessor  and  thus  to  repeat  and  accentuate  its 
effects.  Will  is  thus  the  persistent  result  of  dis- 
charged energy.  Wherever  there  is  will  there  is  a 
growth  of  organic  mechanism  to  make  it  effective. 

Mere  energy  has  no  goal.  It  seeks  an  outlet 
but  nothing  more.  A  wish  pushes  energy  in  some 
direction  and  inhibits  it  in  others.  It  is  the  con- 
scious voice  of  an  underlying  physical  process,  a 
process  which  compels  new  forms  of  life  to  repeat 
that  of  their  antecedents.  There  is  a  physical 
repetend  which  recapitulates  the  antecedents  of 
each  race.  The  wish  in  its  pure  form  is  the  reflex 
of  this,  simplified  as  thought.  An  individual  moves 
through  race  history  with  great  rapidity.  Race 
thought  moves  still  more  rapidly.  It  does  in  min- 
utes what  the  body  does  in  years.  It  anticipates 
what  the  body  would  do,  and  by  anticipation  di- 
rects. The  wish  is  what  the  body  is  trying  to  do, 
and  what  each  time  it  tries  it  does  more  effectively. 
Energy  is  thus  kept  more  fully  in  the  track  which 
forces  the  individual  to  push  his  life  to  its  com- 
pletion; and  by  the  greater  concentration  of  en- 
ergy on  the  life  repetend,  life  itself  is  improved 
and  prolonged.  The  wish  is  an  emotional  intensi- 
fier  of  what  has  subconsciously  existed  as  a  part 


THE  WISH  351 

of  the  life  repetend.  It  creates  nothing  new:  it 
merely  improves  what  is.  The  wish  thus  directs 
energy  toward  fulfillment  and  forces  energy  to 
move  toward  its  goal.  Whatever  we  wish  thus 
gets  the  energy  for  its  fulfillment  unless  some 
abnormality  interferes  to  misdirect  and  thwart. 

To  unravel  the  difficulties  of  subconscious 
thought  two  types  of  wishes  must  be  contrasted. 
One  type  has  a  complete  mechanical  contrivance 
to  attain  its  fulfillment ;  the  other  has  not.  If  we 
have  the  mechanisms  needed  to  attain  a  given  end, 
say  food,  then  the  wish  becomes  a  want.  Wants 
arouse  will  and  will  puts  the  mechanisms  in  oper- 
ation which  attain  the  end.  Want  wishes  thus 
press  for  fulfillment.  They  arouse  activity  and 
stabilize  conduct.  A  pure  wish  in  contrast  to 
these  mechanical  wishes  has  not  the  mechanism 
to  reach  its  ends,  or  at  least  those  mechanisms  are 
incomplete.  In  this  case  the  wish  is  an  urge  to 
make  or  to  complete  the  mechanisms  which  are 
needed  as  the  antecedents  of  fulfillment.  The  dif- 
ference is  between  the  urge  which  creates  the  hand 
and  the  use  of  the  hand  in  supplying  wants.  The 
mechanism,  whether  natural  or  artificial,  must 
antedate  fulfillment.  This  is  why  every  completed 
thing  seems  mechanical  and  where  the  mechan- 
ical view  of  life  gets  its  cogencj^  If  everything 
were  a  complete  mechanism  and  every  desire  an 
established  want,  then  the  universe  would  be 
mechanical.  But  being  completely  mechanical  it 
would  not  be  evolutionary.  Evolution  is  the  pas- 
sage from  wishes  which  have  no  means  of  attain- 
ment to  wants  which  have  mechanisms  capable  of 
reaching  ends.  Evolution  is  thus  the  creation  of 
mechanisms  out  of  non-mechanical  forces.  A 
tropism  is  due  to  a  natural  force  which  does  not 
act  through  a  mechanism.  If  a  moth  moves  to- 
ward the  light  it  does  so  without  mechanisms 
either  made  or  inherited.     So  long  as  the  force 


352  MUD  HOLLOW 

acts  the  moth  moves ;  when  it  ceases  the  mechan- 
isms of  the  moth  again  control. 

The  direct  action  of  natural  forces  tends  to 
thwart  the  fulfillment  which  mechanical  forces 
favor  and  thus  push  life  in  new  and  purposeless 
directions.  This  new  direction  cannot  of  itself  be 
called  better  or  worse  than  the  direction  imposed 
by  body  mechanisms.  It  is,  however,  a  variation, 
and  for  a  variation  there  is  never  a  complete  con- 
trol. The  moth  which  has  seen  light  and  struggled 
against  the  thwarting  of  its  predetermined  mo- 
tives is  a  different  moth  from  one  not  acted  on 
by  the  tropic  influence  of  light. 

That  the  action  of  parents  gives  the  muscles 
of  the  child  a  natural  growth,  in  the  direction 
which  the  acquired  traits  moved  the  parent,  is  too 
simple  an  assumption.  There  is  no  such  relation 
between  the  muscles  of  the  parent  and  those  of 
the  child.  The  muscles  of  the  parent  by  becoming 
more  mechanical  have  improved  the  general  con- 
dition of  the  child ;  say,  given  it  better  food  and 
health.  This  releases  new  tropic  forces  in  the 
child  and  they  create  a  variation,  making  the  child 
different  from  the  parent,  but  in  what  way  only 
experience  can  determine.  The  better  muscles  of 
a  farmer  may  cause  his  son  to  be  a  lawyer  with 
less  developed  muscles,  or  an  artist  with  a  more 
delicate  perception.  The  child  is  thus  different 
and  hence  its  urges  move  it  in  a  new  direction. 
This  is  the  essence  of  variation— a  pure,  blind  al- 
teration without  a  motive  or  an  end.  When  varia- 
tions occur,  the  more  adjusted  survive.  A  new 
type  is  thus  created  by  every  mechanical  improve- 
ment, natural  or  made,  not  because  of  the  direct 
mechanical  results  but  because  of  products  which, 
disintegrating  old  wants,  make  old  mechanisms 
inadequate  to  gratify  new  wishes.  These  new 
wishes  have  no  antecedent  except  the  surplus 


THE  WISH  353 

energy  which  ttie  better  satisfaction  of  old  wants 
creates. 

If  one  acquires  the  wish  to  play  ball,  tennis  or 
even  loves  to  walk  in  the  wood,  there  follows  the 
exercise  a  growth  of  muscular  power  which  makes 
the  new  occupation  easy  and  agreeable.  These 
are  the  acquired  mechanical  results.  But  they  are 
not  all.  The  exercise  frees  the  blood  of  its  toxins : 
there  is  a  flow  of  surplus  energy;  a  consequent 
elation  accompanied  by  a  new  flow  of  thought. 
He  who  walks  in  the  wood  does  not  necessarily 
think  of  trees,  birds  and  flowers.  If  he  did  he 
would  get  but  little  elation.  The  thought  does 
not  match  the  acquired  muscular  power  but  goes 
off  on  routes  of  its  own.  It  thus  stimulates  new 
wishes  and  leads  to  a  pressure  which  makes  fur- 
ther modification  in  mechanical  powers,  perhaps 
in  a  reverse  direction  to  that  toward  which  the 
acquired  muscular  mechanisms  tended.  It  is  not 
the  altered  muscle  which  modifies  heredity.  No 
one,  not  even  Weismann,  would  say  that  better 
food,  light,  air  or  other  ultimate  physical  forces 
cannot  modify  the  germ  cell.  What  is  denied  is 
that  the  modification  corresponds  to  the  acquired 
power  which  was  its  antecedent.  A  muscular 
father  does  not  produce  a  muscular  child,  and  if 
he  uses  his  increased  muscle  to  improve  the  con- 
dition of  the  child  the  child  will  even  differ  from 
him  in  some  physical  or  mental  aspect. 

An  easily  tested  illustration  of  this  is  the  differ- 
ence between  mother  and  daughter.  If  acquired 
characters  were  inherited  the  daughter  should  be 
like  the  mother  in  build,  and  in  moral  and  intel- 
lectual traits.  Nothing  is  more  evident  than  that 
this  is  not  so.  The  discrepancies  are  both  physi- 
cal and  mental.  They  usually  make  a  bad  team, 
pulling  apart  even  when  bound  in  love.  The  rea- 
son is  that  what  the  girl  obtains  from  her  mother 
is  not  her  acquired  traits,  but  an  increased  urge 


354  MUD  HOLLOW 

to  activity  due  to  the  better  conditions  under 
which  she  is  reared.  The  poorly  vironed  girl  is 
her  mother  over  again  in  look  and  deed.  The  well 
vironed  girl  has  urges  her  mother  never  felt  and 
these  push  her  physically  and  mentally  in  direc- 
tions so  diverse  that  the  mother  exclaims  in  hor- 
ror, ''Why  am  I  afflicted  with  such  offspring T' 
Even  when  bad  the  mother  is  not  to  blame  nor 
is  the  child.  Nature  has  its  own  method  of  pro- 
cedure in  which  mother  and  child  must  acquiesce. 

Acquired  human  traits  do  not  become  inherited, 
but  they  create  variation  from  the  antecedent 
stock.  Every  new  mechanism  acquired  or  made 
modifies  heredity  and  the  direction  of  the  altera- 
tion is  determined  not  by  the  mechanism  but  by 
the  new  wish  which  the  improved  mechanism  frees. 
There  is  a  paradox  in  this  statement  but  also  a 
truth.  We  free  ourselves  from  mechanism  by 
becoming  more  mechanical.  The  wish  is  formed 
not  by  the  mechanism  but  by  the  energy  it  frees. 
Physical  acquisitions  do  not  perpetuate  them- 
selves ;  they  create  variation.  When  variation  ap- 
pears nature  chooses  the  better  and  eliminates  the 
worse.  Thus  v>^e  have  a  force  w^hich  leads  to  im- 
provement without  any  intention  on  its  part  to 
improve.  This  may  be  disappointing  from  a  moral 
view  but  it  helps  cosmos  out  of  a  difficult  situation. 

This  explanation  is  faulty  without  an  amplifi- 
cation of  the  relation  of  wishes  to  dreams.  The 
wish  creates  and  focuses  activity.  The  dream 
magnifies  it.  In  sleep  the  opposition  to  wish  urges 
is  less  intense.  The  shift  in  thought  to  avoid 
struggle  is  made  more  quickly.  The  meaning  of 
the  wish  thus  becomes  obscured.  When  awake  we 
persist  in  single  efforts  longer  than  in  dreams  and 
try  more  expedients.  But  the  next  move  is  always 
in  the  same  direction,  as  in  dreams.  Dreams  and 
action  thus  run  parallel.  There  is  little  difference 
between  day  and  night  dreams.    Both  show  rapid 


ROMANTIC  LOVE  355 


changes  in  the  thought  currents  to  gain  easy, 
ready  fulfillment.  The  best  method  therefore  to 
represent  intense  action  is  to  put  it  in  the  dream 
form.  What  an  actor  would  do  in  his  dream  he 
strives  under  more  difficult  conditions  to  do  in 
waking  hours.  This  is  what  gives  force  to  the 
world  myths.  Blending  as  they  do  dream  life  with 
heroic  life,  every  intensified  act  becomes  heroic 
action.    That  of  which  we  dream  our  hero  does. 


18 

Romantic  Love 

The  psycho-analyst  regards  the  wish  as  a  dis- 
guised form  of  the  sex  urge.  Were  this  so  my 
analysis  is  defective.  There  is  therefore  need  to 
contrast  what  underlies  each  belief.  The  conten- 
tion of  the  psycho-analyst  rests  on  the  assumption 
that  propagation  is  essential  to  life  and  to  this 
end  all  activity  is  directed.  From  my  view  repro- 
duction is  an  easy  matter ;  too  much — not  too  little 
life — comes  with  each  generation.  The  forces  of 
evolution  do  not  have  to  strive  for  this  end,  but 
instead  for  the  improvement  of  life.  Sex  has 
therefore  remained  a  by-product  of  immense  im- 
port, yet  not  among  the  evolutionary  forces  on 
which  development  depends.  Heredity  is  a 
group  of  mechanisms  for  the  attainment  of  ends 
which  the  ultimate  physical  forces  fail  to  provide. 
It  is  what  they  lack  not  what  they  furnish  to  which 
we  must  look.  Evolution,  I  repeat,  is  the  evolu- 
tion of  mechanisms,  not  of  propagation.  The 
amoeba  can  propagate  itself  as  readily  as  can  a 
mammal,  but  it  lacks  the  mechanisms  of  the  mam- 
mal to  reach  to  concrete  ends.  The  mammals* 
mechanisms  thus  reach  toward  fulfillment,  not  to- 
ward sex  pleasure. 


356  MUD  HOLLOW 

If  this  point  is  clear  the  difference  between  sex 
urges  and  true  wishes  can  be  apprehended.  Wishes 
work  through  mechanisms  and  are  made  clear  and 
definite  by  the  mechanisms  through  which  tbey 
act.  Every  wish  has  a  goal  and  a  partial  or  com- 
pleted mechanism  to  attain  it.  Each  effort  modi- 
fies the  mechanism  through  which  it  acts  and  thus 
presses  toward  a  more  complete  fulfillment.  Sex 
urges  are  tropic.  Certain  products  are  thrown 
into  the  blood  which  while  active,  turning  thought 
and  mechanism  from  their  evolutionary  bent, 
make  them  servants  of  sex  desires.  Sex  acts  on 
men  as  light  acts  on  a  moth.  The  moth  does  not 
wish  to  move  toward  the  light;  it  must.  While 
sex  hormones  are  in  the  blood  men  must  do  not 
what  they  will,  but  as  the  excited  forces  demand. 
When  blood  is  freed  from  these  hormones,  will 
and  wish  again  assert  themselves,  evolutionary 
processes  are  resumed.  Sex  urges  thus  paralyze 
action  instead  of  promoting  it.  The  mechanical 
processes  are  turned  from  their  normal  course 
and  temporarily  made  to  serve  foreign  ends — ^by 
foreign,  be  it  understood,  I  mean  foreign  to  the 
evolution  of  life.  Primarily  inherited  mechanisms 
are  for  the  purpose  of  improving  life,  not  for  its 
propagation.  Wishes  are  urges  to  upbuild  or  to 
defend  and  thus  need  mechanisms  for  their  ful- 
fillment or  defense. 

To  make  this  point  clear  a  contrast  must  be 
made  between  wishes  and  compulsions.  The  wish 
of  any  moment  must  be  referred  back  to  its  ante- 
cedents in  nerve  and  muscle.  Each  new  msh 
makes  a  new  mechanism  and  each  new  mechanism 
prompts  some  new  wish.  Mechanisms,  heredity 
and  wishes  are  thus  inseparable.  Together  they 
make  the  evolutionary  process  and  push  life  to- 
ward its  goal.  Compulsions  are  blood  states. 
Their  antecedents  are  not  in  heredity  but  in  the 
physical    forces    which    intermittently    override 


ROMANTIC  LOVE  357 

heredity  and  wish.  When  a  moth  moves  toward 
the  light,  its  act  is  a  compulsion  which  is  not 
heredity  nor  wish  but  a  compelling  force  it  cannot 
resist.  True  wishes  thus  paralyzed  come  to  their 
own  only  when  passion  subsides.  Wish  is  a  grop- 
ing for  fulfillment.  Sex  thwarts  this  but  cannot 
turn  its  behests  into  true  wishes. 

I  am  not  questioning  the  power  of  sex,  merely 
its  primacy.  Is  it,  I  ask,  a  force  external  to  the 
mechanism  it  uses,  which  appropriates  for  its  ends 
mechanisms  made  by  other  processes,  or  is  it  the 
author  of  these  mechanisms?  Light,  we  readily 
see,  does  not  make  the  mechanisms  by  which  the 
moth  approaches  its  flame.  It  forces  mechanisms 
made  for  another  purpose  to  serve  its  ends.  So 
with  sex.  Throwing  a  glamour  over  evolutionary 
processes,  it  makes  them  subject  to  a  new  master. 
This  fact  is  readily  seen  if  we  examine  the  plot 
of  a  love  story.  It  is  the  difficulties  of  love  not 
its  realization  which  holds  the  attention.  Lovers' 
quarrels,  not  lovers '  truces,  make  the  body  of  the 
book  and  the  source  of  its  excitement.  The  mech- 
anisms of  struggle,  hate  and  fulfillment  are  thus 
utilized  and  from  them  thought  and  movement 
come.  Sex  love  is  static.  It  is  a  thief,  not  an 
originator. 

We  get  at  the  facts  genetically  when  we  realize 
that  woman  is  the  result,  not  of  her  immediate 
ancestry,  but  of  a  billion  distant  forbears.  It  is 
this  billion  and  not  her  mother  which  determines 
the  trend  of  her  thought.  Nothing  happening  in 
the  last  thousand  years  has  become  a  part  of 
female  heredity.  A  girl  will  get  nothing  of  this 
unless  it  is  impressed  by  blows.  It  is  the  prehis- 
toric ancestors,  the  flow  of  whose  thought  the 
girl  repeats.  How  did  this  distant  ancestress 
look  on  life? 

The  question  answers  itself.  This  woman  was 
not  the  slave  of  man's  passions,  but  an  equal  if 


358  MUD  HOLLOW 

not  a  superior  in  effective  enterprise.  Tlie  natural 
current  of  a  woman's  thought  runs  on  tliis  trail. 
It  visualizes  achievement,  not  love.  iNo.jsKoman 
falls  in  love  until  she  is  knocked  down^T'^f  critics 
deny  this  it  is  because  they  have  seen  naught  but 
cripples.  Love  of  a  particular  man  is  an  inject 
due  to  long-standing  subordination.  As  women 
drop  through  misfortune  they  love  their  protec- 
tors. When  this  in  turn  fails  they  seek  consola- 
tion in  religion.  Either  are  better  than  brute 
isolation. 

The  natural  current  of  thought,  the  one  which 
most  women  have,  is  that  visualized  by  heredity 
and  achievement.  Men  come  in  as  comrades  and 
helpers ;  some  wild  adventures  follow  their  union. 
They  go,  go,  never  reaching  a  destination,  merely 
see  it  afar.  To  visualize  this  is  all  nature  has 
done.  It  is  vague,  fanciful  but  real.  It  is  true, 
of  course,  that  this  brings  children,  but  marriage 
is  not  a  preliminary. 

Sex  love  is  a  fall  from  this  state.  Women  sink 
to  the  sex  level  either  through  fear,  a  bribe  or 
disease.  A  crushed  woman  clings  to  her  oppres- 
sor; a  bribed  woman  idolizes  its  source.  From 
disease,  narrowness  and  monotony  she  flees  to  sex 
love;  but  with  each  debauch,  sinking  lower,  her 
enemies  fasten  their  grip.  When  she  loses  all  but 
sex  men  grin  at  her  depravity.  Such  is  the  road 
of  women  from  the  height  to  the  pit.  It  is  a  well- 
beaten  track;  the  only  safe  road  to  travel.  Yet 
it  is  misfortune's  impressment,  not  heredity's. 
Fancy  would  blaze  another  track  reaching  to  not 
the  grave  but  some  illumined  goal. 

The  second  current  of  thought  voices  reproduc- 
tion. The  mother  sells  herself  in  marriage  for 
support.  When  this  current  proves  unsatisfac- 
tory, the  religious  teacher  creates  a  third  current 
of  thought  by  teaching  women  that  their  misfor- 
tunes are  due  to  their  sins.    Woman  is  a  tempter 


ROMANTIC  LOVE  359 

and  must  through  modesty  and  sacrifice  be 
cleansed  from  depravity  to  reach  the  golden  shore. 
These  concepts,  although  a  second  nature,  are 
never  visualized  by  heredity.  Marriage,  repro- 
duction and  redemption  have  foreign  elements  of 
which  heredity  is  unaware.  Men  talk  glibly  about 
"back  to  nature"  without  realizing  just  where  it 
would  lead.  American  girls  are  nearer  nature 
than  any  but  their  distant  forbears  have  been. 
They  think  of  living,  pushing  and  achieving  just 
as  their  distant  progenitors  did.  Of  sex,  mar- 
riage and  sacrifice  they  only  learn  when  the  knocks 
of  life  begin  to  sear  and  deform. 

* '  I  never  was  interested  in  suffrage, ' '  said  a  bril- 
liant young  woman  recently,  ' '  I  have  no  wrongs ; 
no  man  ever  injured  me.  I  mean  to  take  what 
comes." 

This  is  true  of  Ruth.  She  does  not  love  Paul: 
she  idealizes  him.  He  fits  into  her  mental  picture 
and  makes  it  concrete.  Of  him  she  expects  great 
things  and  mth  him  she  expects  to  live  and  sleep 
and  work.  Marriage  takes  no  part  in  this  flow  of 
thought.  Nature  created  it  long  before  marriage 
was  invented.  Lovers  merely  take  each  other's 
hand  and  push  on  into  an  unknown  world  where 
great  things  are  to  be  done.  Such  was  Ruth's 
mental  state  ard  so  would  she  have  done  if  her 
hero  had  matched  her  expectations.  Unquestion- 
ing, she  would  have  gone  anywhere  and  done  any- 
thing if  Paul  had  led  the  way.  But  this  was  not 
in  Paul!  He  could  not  take  a  girl  by  the  hand, 
and  say,  ''Come."  Hence  Ruth  goes  through  a 
series  of  disillusions,  first  about  her  father's  phil- 
osophy, and  then  about  Paul.  The  two  men  on 
whom  she  had  relied  fail  when  the  test  comes. 
Her  father's  philosophy  breaks;  Paul,  failing  to 
respond  to  her  behests,  drops  from  the  sphere  of 
an  idol  to  that  of  a  brute. 

I  thought  I  had  described  Ruth's  disillusion 


360  MUD  HOLLOW 

with  such  fulness  that  anyone  could  see  it.    Yet  no 
one  seems  to,  unless  it  is  thrown  at  him  with  a 
pitchfork.    When  Ruth  fails  in  her  physical  con- 
test with  Paul,  the  only  thing  persons  notice  is 
that  she  exposed  her  ankles.    A  friend  the  other 
day  lost  his  moral  composure  in  seeing  a  woman 
of  whom  he  could  not  tell  whether  she  wore  over 
her  breast  three  garments  or  one.     The  suspi- 
cion was  upsetting.    At  such  an  exhibition  should 
one  smile  or  groan?    That  she  is  the  symbol  of 
a  world  contest  in  which  every  human  being  takes 
a  part,  that  failure  is  the  bitter  pill  every  woman 
must  swallow,  is  beyond  such  a  man's  comprehen- 
sion.   Yet  so  is  it  with  protected  girls.     We  en- 
courage them  in  youth ;  thwart  them  at  maturity. 
How  many  men  are  there  who  show  up  any  better 
than  Paul  in  an  emergency?     One  youthful  idol 
after  another  falls ;  the  world  turns  black.    Then 
when  woman  sinks  we  nod  our  heads  and  exclaim, 
"Woman  is  sex  and  sex  is  depravity."    Girls  are 
not  sex  nor  is  it  sex  a  girl  wants.     Her  mind 
runs  not  yet  in  physical  channels  but  toward  great 
ends.    She  has  a  thought  movement  and  a  thought 
stimulus  as  well  as  a  man.    But  the  movement  is 
different.     The  boy  thinks  in  terms  of  himself. 
He  is  the  great  world  reformer — tlie  giant  before 
whom  all  else  quails.    He  fights  a  lone  battle  and 
expects  a  hero's  reward.     The  girl's  thought  is 
never  so  self -centered.    He  leads,  she  follows.    He 
is  the  hero,  not  she.    Her  thought  turns  on  the 
reward  he  is  to  have.    What  is  it  but  she?     Of 
him  she  dreams,  not  of  herself.    She  is  thus  a  hero 
worshipper,  an   incentive  to  deeds,  not  a  doer. 
Yet  she  would  have  a  part.     She  must  go  when 
he  goes,  return  with  him,  and  bask  in  the  joy  of 
heroic  deeds  done  by  him.    Romantic  love  fornied 
by  millions  of  antecedent  struggles  has  heredity 
in  the  background  and  follows  its  behests.    It  is 
what  women  want  the  world  to  be,  freedom,  ad- 


ROMANTIC  LOVE  361 

venture,  not  a  diseased  pressure  directing  thought 
toward  physical  corruption. 

This  may  be  close  to  sex,  but  the  romantic  girl 
is  not  sex-conscious.  Her  natural  thought  would 
shock  her  Sunday  School  teacher  and  perhaps  her 
mother,  who  has  forgotten  the  joy  of  girlhood. 
If  a  girl  drops  to  the  sex  level  it  is  the  men  and 
not  she  who  cause  it.  "If  a  girl  goes  wrong,  look 
for  the  man."  The  drop  is  easy,  I  admit,  but  it 
comes  only  by  the  stress  of  outside  circumstances. 

Ruth  wants  Paul,  to  be  with  him  and  of  him. 
But  above  all  she  wants  to  be  a  partner  in  the 
great  enterprise  coming  to  its  fruition  in  the 
study.  Had  the  men  taken  her  in,  given  her  some- 
thing to  do,  made  her  feel  that  she  was  one  vdth 
them,  she  would  have  played  an  humble  part,  been 
a  helpful  co-worker  and  waited  without  thought 
for  time  to  carry  them  to  their  destined  goal.  She 
was  a  bird,  a  plumed  bird,  alive  to  the  present 
with  no  thought  of  the  morrow.  Did  she  drop 
from  this  level,  the  men  were  to  blame.  They 
forced  her  out  of  her  normal  channel  into  an  un- 
tried world  which  might  lead  anywhere — a  road 
most  girls  take  but  which  after  all  is  foreign  to 
their  nature. 

An  English  woman  recently  said,  "There  never 
was  a  time  when  English  girls  were  as  idealistic 
as  today — nor  a  time  when  the  woman  of  thirty 
was  as  bad."  This  statement  is  worthy  of  reflec- 
tion. Girls  start  out  with  high  ideals.  They 
dream  of  heroes  and  think  of  themselves  as 
mated  with  some  great  giant  who  strikes 
blows  and  does  world  deeds.  She,  his  reward, 
must  be  pure  and  good.  She  shapes  her  life  to  be 
worthy  of  her  apparent  destiny.  But  the  years 
pass,  the  hero  does  not  come.  Men  she  finds  are 
mortals,  women  their  prey.  Then  deceit  begins 
its  work.  Disappointed  and  betrayed,  sinking  to 
a  sex  level,  she  breaks  the  bonds  her  normal  girl- 


362  MUD  HOLLOW 

ish  idealism  evoked.  She  does  what  man  wants ; 
and  with  him  she  drinks,  eats  and  sleeps. 

Such  is  the  history,  not  of  one  girl  but  of  a 
million.  The  thought  of  man  runs  a  parallel 
course  but  men  are  physically  stronger.  Forty  is 
the  breaking  time  with  them.  They  feel  the  pang 
of  disappointment,  become  pessimists  and  bite  the 
apple  of  physical  pleasure.  Oh,  the  number  of 
one's  friends  who  run  this  downward  course,  eat, 
drink  and  are  merry  in  the  forties  to  drop  into 
premature  graves  at  its  close.  The  track  is  thus 
the  same  for  men  and  women,  but  women  are  more 
subject  to  physical  disorder  and  thus  meet  their 
fate  at  an  earlier  date. 

There  is  a  reason  for  this  if  we  watch  at  the 
right  point.  While  a  plant  grows  its  sex  nature 
is  dormant.  Only  at  the  end,  when  growth  is  com- 
plete, do  leaves  and  stems  fade  that  their  energy 
may  be  transformed  into  flowers  and  fruit.  The 
same  is  true  of  men.  While  they  are  active  sex 
remains  dormant.  It  becomes  a  conscious  urge 
only  when  muscles  decay  or  stiffen.  Day  dreams 
of  the  young  are  work  dreams,  not  sex  dreams. 
Activity,  not  reproduction,  drives  the  soul  to  self- 
expression.  But  bad  habits,  drinking  and  eating 
to  excess,  overwork  and  other  wrongs  of  modern 
life,  bear  their  fruit.  The  muscles  soften,  the 
blood  makes  fat  instead  of  brawn.  Then  comes 
sex  consciousness,  with  the  downward  sweep  that 
carries  its  victims  to  untimely  graves. 

The  cynic  of  forty  will  smile  at  this  descrip- 
tion. He  knows  the  world  and  finds  no  one  to 
meet  my  description.  So  be  it,  but  that  is  not 
the  problem  or  its  answer.  Pine  trees  grow 
straight  and  tall  without  branches,  until  they  meet 
the  sky.  They  have  only  one  motive,  to  distance 
their  fellows  in  their  skyward  urge.  Across  the 
way  are  scraggly  pines  from  the  same  seed.  They 
are  all  branches,  ugly,  useless  branches  with  no 


ROMANTIC  LOVE  363 

upward-pointing  trunk.  Why?  The  pine  tree  is 
social.  Give  it  close  neighbors  and  it  tries  to 
excel.  Put  it  alone  in  a  pasture  and  it  grovels 
with  the  grass,  all  branches,  no  trunk. 

Which  is  the  natural  and  wdiich  the  artificial 
product?  The  way  to  tell  is  not  to  go  among  the 
measly  second  growth,  but  in  primeval  forest. 
There  nature  reveals  itself.  All  trunks  are  straight 
and  true.  It  is  man,  not  nature,  who  makes  the 
modern  woods.  Searching  for  the  straight  and 
true,  he  cuts  it  when  it  measures  ses^en  inches. 
How  can  nature  show  its  real  form  when  the 
woodman's  axe  thwarts  its  endeavors?  So  is 
it  with  girls.  They  have  heredity — and  a  cruel 
viron.  Men  chop  and  deform  them  as  they  do  the 
trees.  They  hunt  the  virtuous  as  the  woodman 
does  the  tree.  Such  is  the  woman  and  such  the 
tree.  Thw^arted,  gnarled,  deformed,  yet  ever  and 
anon  some  stray  example  shows  its  beauty  and 
from  it  we  should  measure  its  nature.  Elven  the 
meanest  has  an  heredity  which  once  struggled 
against  the  fate  to  which  all  must  succumb.  We 
need  not  a  new  heredity,  but  a  new  man ! 

Evolution,  having  a  crooked  path,  frequently 
reverses  itself.  It  forces  what  it  has  made  for 
one  end  to  take  on  other  uses.  Preferring  to  use 
what  it  has  in  new  ways,  it  often  covers  its  tracks 
in  a  manner  hard  to  decipher.  Yet  even  when 
progressive,  it  has  a  cost.  There  is  always  a 
minority  which  suffers  acutely  and  sometimes  un- 
justly. Could  evolution  be  stopped,  this  suffering 
and  injustice  would  cease  or  at  least  be  felt  at 
some  other  point.  It  is  a  potent  fact  that  if  sex 
restraints  were  set  aside  and  a  free  indulgence 
permitted,  many  who  are  now  diseased  would  be 
cured.  It  is  also  true  that  restriction  brings  a 
horde  of  evils.  It  may  even  be  that  our  insane 
asylums  would  be  emptied  if  restraint  were  aban- 
doned yet  neither  these  nor  other  objections  touch 


364  MUD  HOLLOW 

the  fundamental  issue.  All  evolution  is  painful 
to  the  minority  which  it  deprives  of  sustenance, 
or  in  other  ways  rids  the  world  of  those  less  fitted 
for  advanced  life.  Nor  can  it  be  said  that  Puri- 
tanism is  to  blame.  The  opposition  between  sex 
and  the  wishes  which  grope  toward  fulfillment  be- 
gan in  the  lower  forms  of  life  and  has  become 
more  urgent  with  every  step  in  its  rise.  The  waste 
of  the  overproduction  of  life  has  been  checked, 
and  more  of  human  energy  has  been  diverted  to 
the  satisfaction  of  wants  and  wishes.  Puritanism 
is  but  a  late  step  in  this  pressure,  by  which  less 
energy  is  used  for  the  reproduction  of  life  and 
more  for  its  betterment.  Sex  desires  must  be 
curbed  or  the  rise  of  man  retarded.  We  can  well 
afford  to  support  asylums  and  increase  their  num- 
ber if  the  removal  of  sex  delinquents  enables  men 
to  reach  higher  levels  of  will  force  and  wish  at- 
tainment. 

Puritanism  is  like  its  cousin,  Prohibition.  Both 
make  minorities  suffer,  both  create  injustice  and 
even  increase  crime,  yet  the  test  of  progress  is  not 
in  having  jails  empty  but  in  keeping  them  crowded. 
Every  new  social  mechanism  has  its  crop  in  a 
new  class  of  defectives  who  do  not  measure  up  to 
the  new  standard.  We  should  pity  such,  relieve 
their  suffering  if  we  can,  but  none  the  less,  even 
at  the  expense  of  increasing  disease  and  crime, 
the  grind  of  progress  must  continue.  Man  must 
rise  even  if  he  climbs  over  the  dead  bodies  of  his 
comrades. 

19 

Protected  Girls 

America  prides  itself  on  being  the  land  of 
homes,  an  appellation  which  is  not  wholly  unde- 
served.   There  are  many  homeless  and  many  more 


PROTECTED  GIRLS  365 

who  are  inadequately  housed.  To  these  the  moral 
and  social  attention  is  rightly  given.  They  de- 
serve more  than  they  get,  yet,  despite  this  fact, 
it  is  the  homed  who  give  America  its  distinctive 
character.  Other  nations  have  their  homeless; 
they  also  have  their  partially  homed;  but  no  na- 
tion is  dominated  by  the  homed  to  a  like  extent. 
Aristocracy  plays  no  part ;  of  plutocrats  there  are 
aplenty  but  fortunately  they  skip  to  New  York  or 
remote  shores  on  all  possible  occasions.  The 
cities,  the  villages  and  the  prosperous  agricul- 
tural districts  are  those  dominated  by  the  homed, 
who  impress  their  notions  on  everything  in  sight. 

Of  these  multitudes  the  first  and  second  genera- 
tion preserve  frontier  habits;  but  now  the  third 
and  fourth  generation  are  in  control.  To  them  the 
frontier  is  as  far  from  thought  and  action  as  it 
is  to  the  residents  of  the  town.  In  moving  from 
the  frontier  they  have  also  moved  from  the  realm 
of  religion,  conscious  morality  and  even  of  history. 
The  past  means  little  or  nothing.  Even  Europe 
is  a  vague  unreality,  an  object  of  charity,  a  place 
for  a  summer  excursion  but  not  after  all  of  much 
consequence.  Nor  are  these  people  filled  with 
rigorous  notions  which  inculcate  an  opposition  to 
art  and  culture.  Art  in  the  accepted  sense  does 
not  count  because,  like  religion,  history  and  Eu- 
rope, it  does  not  touch  life.  There  never  before 
was  so  self-centered  a  group  as  these  millions  of 
well-homed  Americans.  All  their  outgoes  center 
about  their  home  life.  Popular  literature  has  its 
standards  set  by  the  million  readers  who  make  a 
journal  pay,  and  this  million  are  not  to  be  found 
except  in  these  self-satisfied  homes. 

The  dictator  and  money  spender  is  the  mother 
who  fastens  her  views  on  every  one,  the  father 
included.  Her  hobbies  are  health,  cleanliness  and 
dress.  A  mother  recently  told  me  she  had  twenty- 
five  complete  suits  for  her  little  girl.    This  was  in 


366  MUD  HOLLOW 

a  family  with  an  income  less  than  two  thousand 
a  year.  When  I  was  young,  boys  stuffed  them- 
selves wdth  green  apples,  doughnuts  and  mince 
pies.  Now  a  child  waits  demurely  for  the  mother 
to  decide  whether  it  is  to  have  oat  meal  or  corn 
flakes.  Even  a  two-year-old  wonders  whether  an- 
other mouthful  will  give  the  colic.  The  father 
eats  what  is  set  before  him  as  meekly  as  the  child, 
but  is  occasionally  given  an  extra  cup  of  Postum 
for  a  change.  Family  prayers  have  gone,  in  the 
place  of  which  every  one  spends  five  minutes- 
scrubbing  his  teeth.  The  food,  the  clothing  and 
the  bills  must  pass  mother's  inspection.  It  is  a 
common  sight  for  a  man  to  pass  his  pay  envelope 
unopened  to  his  wife  and  to  receive  back  the 
spending  money  she  thinks  he  deserves. 

It  is  these  homed  groups,  not  the  Puritan-mind- 
ed, who  give  support  to  the  prohibition  movement. 
What  does  not  concern  the  home  they  fight. 
Against  everything  outside  and  against  all  differ- 
ing minorities  their  opposition  is  keen.  It  is  a 
mistake  to  assume  that  lynching  parties  and  night 
riders  are  made  up  of  the  rough  elements.  If 
their  pictures  were  taken  it  would  show  excellent 
boys  who  have  the  approval  of  mother  and  sister 
in  what  they  do.  Where  everything  centers  about 
the  home  an  indifference  to  the  outside  world 
breeds  contempt.  Likeness  becomes  the  only  stan- 
dard, the  different  is  the  bad. 

I  state  these  facts  to  illumine  the  background 
on  which  the  condition  and  thought  of  children 
depend.  No  one  can  doubt  that  health,  cleanli- 
ness and  purity  are  essentials,  and  that  the  chil- 
dren brought  up  under  the  toothbrush  regime  are 
healthier,  sounder  and  cleaner  than  their  crude, 
less  guarded  predecessors.  The  result  is  that 
America  has  not  only  thousands  but  even  millions 
of  well-nourished  boys  and  girls  who  reach  matur- 


PROTECTED  GIRLS  367 

ity  with  a  push  worthy  of  admiration,  even  if 
results  do  not  measure  up  to  expectation. 

Two  ideals  lie  in  the  background :  the  boys  must 
be  successful;  the  girls  must  be  freed  fromx  the 
sacrificial  drudgery  past  ages  have  imposed.  Every 
well  homed  mother  says,  "I  do  not  want  my 
daughter  to  drudge  the  way  I  have  done."  She 
proceeds  to  fulfill  this  desire  with  a  commendable 
energy  amply  supplemented  by  the  father's  co- 
operation. Boys  must  be  successful,  they  both 
say.  Concerted  efforts  are  put  forth  to  this  end. 
Through  adventure  and  in  business,  the  boy  must 
push  above  the  level  of  his  comrades,  be  a  marked 
youth  and  attain  social  eminence  in  some  field. 

If  this  be  the  desired  aim,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  society  through  its  educational  institutions  is 
rapidly  attaining  its  goal.  The  trend  of  education 
is  toward  business  life  and  the  college  courses  for 
this  end  are  especially  successful.  If  we  have  not 
reached  the  goal  of  showing  young  men  how  to 
get  the  income  needed  for  a  tranquil  family  life, 
it  is  not  far  distant.  I  say  this  of  the  protected 
boy  who  comes  from  the  well  homed  part  of  our 
population.  In  earlier  times  the  college  boy  came 
from  a  lower  stratum,  paid  his  own  way  and  thus 
knew  by  experience  the  hardships  of  frontier  life. 
Unfortunately  this  group  is  now  largely  excluded. 
The  freshman  classes  are  filled  by  youths  who 
have  never  known  what  sacrifice  is.  They  are 
not  so  consciously  moral  as  their  predecessors  but 
they  have  an  earnestness  and  good  fellowship  that 
compensate.  It  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  a  pro- 
fessor to  face  a  freshman  class  and  see  what  good 
material  he  has  to  work  on.  Each  decade  sees 
our  college  coming  nearer  the  goal  which  family 
life  sets.  Active  young  men  go  over  the  top,  or  do 
any  stunt  which  excites  the  admiration  of  their 
fellows.  Marrying  pretty  girls,  they  build  fine 
houses,  become  church  trustees,  school  directors. 


368  MUD  HOLLOW 

village  mayors  and  driiik  Postum.  These  re- 
wards are  sure  to  come  to  the  boys — but  where 
are  the  girls  ?  What  part  are  they  to  have  in  this 
industrial  millenium? 

That  girls  should  be  protected,  happy,  and  con- 
tented while  at  home  is  the  ideal  of  every  family. 
Were  they  satisfied  to  be  wives  and  mothers  all 
would  be  well.  Their  husbands  would  be  good 
providers;  they  good  cooks.  But  protection  and 
leisure  does  an  unexpected  thing.  It  makes  girls 
different  from  their  mothers.  They  are  a  varia- 
tion which  fits  neither  mother's  nor  husband's 
wishes.  This  brings  a  crisis.  It  may  come  early 
to  the  girl  who,  earning  her  living,  pushes  her  way 
in  the  world.  She  is  the  first  to  strike  the  rocks, 
and  strike  them  hard.  Even  if  well  protected, 
indulgent  parents  die,  brothers  marry,  the  home 
is  broken.  It  is  not  starvation  they  face,  but 
reduced  incomes  and  boarding-house  fare.  What 
a  step  to  drop  from  a  home  to  the  third-story, 
back.  A  woman  on  her  own  feet  earns  just  enough 
to  pay  rent  and  board.  The  refinements  others 
have  she  may  see  but  not  enjoy. 

I  am  not  writing  a  tale  of  woe  nor  desiring  to 
exaggerate  the  agony  of  a  woman  who  has  the 
world  to  face.  The  trouble  lies  in  the  fact  that  she 
is  a  misfit,  a  variation  which  throws  her  out  of 
harmony  with  her  world.  She  is  a  sprout  which  in 
the  right  climate  would  grow  to  a  luxuriant  ma- 
turity; but  which  in  chill  air  crumples,  as  of  frost. 
It  is  useless  therefore  to  depict  her  narrow  life 
and  hear  her  sobs.  Others  have  often  told  of 
these.  We  get  nearer  the  source  by  noting  what 
kind  of  a  variation  she  is.  The  freedom  of  her 
protected  position  permitted  her  to  follow  nature's 
behests  more  fully  than  her  brother.  She  is 
therefore  more  natural,  less  grooved;  and  in  ad- 
dition all  those  life-urges  which  nature  has  im- 
planted are  more  active  and  insistent  than  in  him. 


PROTECTED  GIRLS  369 

He  has  practical  aims  set  before  him  even  as  a 
lad.  His  technical  education  forced  him  into  a 
specific  calling  which  gave  money,  made  a  home 
possible,  and  destroyed  or  repressed  what  nature 
implanted.  All  nature's  urges  are  evolutionary. 
It  cares  little  for  happiness  or  personal  success. 
Its  triumph  is  fulfillment;  the  getting  from  here 
into  something  else.  Had  brother  not  rushed  so 
fast,  had  his  face  not  been  held  so  close  to  the 
grindstone,  he  would  have  heard  nature  calling 
for  evolution  and  thus  would  have  become  a  vari- 
ant, not  a  constant.  Men  and  women  are  not 
different  mentally.  Their  mental  mechanisms 
have  the  same  elements  and  their  urges  a  like 
goal.  The  twists  that  misdirect  them  are  inferior 
complexes,  imposed  tradition  and  the  demands 
of  immediate  success.  Within  protected  groups 
men  suffer  more  from  these  than  women.  They 
stifle  their  natural  urges  to  a  greater  degree. 
They  have  money;  women  have  hope,  but  little 
power  by  themselves  to  reach  out  to  fulfillment. 

There  is  the  difference  between  boys  and  girls. 
Boys  have  a  physical  endo^\TTient  that  girls  lack. 
This  difference  is  growing.  Each  generation  sees 
the  power  of  men  increase,  not  because  of  their 
intellect  but  because  of  their  greater  powder  of 
specific  application.  Grirls  may  become  cooks, 
stenographers  and  primary  teachers,  but  above 
this  grade  they  are  not  wanted  except  for  special 
services.  Every  time  a  girl's  salary  goes  up  a 
hundred  the  boy's  leaps  up  by  a  thousand.  The 
world  is  man-made  and  getting  more  so.  It  is 
this  cold  fact  that  the  protected  girl  must  sooner 
or  later  face;  she  struggles,  fights,  hopes,  and 
then  breaks.  The  buoyant  girl  of  twenty  is  the 
wreck  of  thirty. 

Do  not  misunderstand.  I  am  not  making  a 
plea  for  charity.  What  has  happened  I  approve. 
I  have  been  an  ardent  advocate  of  industrial  edu- 


370  MUD  HOLLOW 

cation  and  have  done  my  share  to  bring  it  to  its 
present  efhciency.    I  always  rejoice  when  I  hear 
that  one  of  my  students  is  earning-  ten  thousand 
a  year — and  take  part  of  the  credit  to  myself. 
No  world  is  worth  living  in  which  does  not  have 
a  multitude  of  such  men.    But  after  all  it  is  only 
one  of  those  great  swings  in  evolutionary  process 
which  cures  but  hurts.    Partial  evolution  is  mis- 
ery; on  this   occasion  it  is   the   acutest  misery 
because  it  is  isolating  men  from  women  and  thus 
creating  a  stress  that  distorts  and  even  rends  the 
most  fundamental  of  human  relations.     I  have 
some   measure   of    sympathy   for   the   bad   men 
and  women  who  get  into  the  divorce  courts;  be- 
tween good  men  and  women  it  is  all  more  painful. 
If  woman  were  sex  all  would  go  well,  but  the 
better,    sounder    woman    wants    to    excel,    make 
something  of  herself.    That  she  cannot  do,  with 
the    overpowering    physical    difference    between 
him  and  her.    She  is  swamped  at  every  trial  to 
compete.    The  dollars  go  from,  not  to  her.    She 
can  sit  in  an  office  and  see  them  fly  by.    They  are 
not  for  her  to  handle.    The  man  has  lots  of  vir- 
tues; never  has  he  been  praised  highly  enough; 
3"et  the  mere  distance  between  him  and  woman 
creates  a  wrong  attitude.     He  gives  freely,  but 
there  is  the  same  condescension  to  wife  as  toward 
church  or  fourth  of  July  celebration.     For  what 
he  does  he  expects  in  return  adoration.    He  gets 
this  of  the  boys  to  whom  he  gives  firecrackers  and 
from  girls  in  return  for  flags  and  ice  cream,  but 
his  wife  groans  when  he  in  the  same  spirit  throws 
her  a  bill  or  attempts  to  placate  her  misery  with 
candy  and  theater.    He  is  a  good  man,  I  repeat; 
but  in  spite  of  his  claim  he  does  not  understand 
women.     So  men  and  women  drift  apart.     The 
better  women  prefer  the  misery  of  the  street  to 
the  thorn  of  the  home.    More  and  more  men  seek 
in  inferior  women  the  adoration  they  deem  their 


JOHN  AND  HATTIE  371 

due.  Good  men  marry  weak  women.  Good  women 
may  look  in  but  cannot  participate  in  family  life. 
They  are  denied  one  function  because  they  insist 
on  another.  Thus  evolution  is  thwarted.  Each 
generation  works  to  the  same  point,  repeats  the 
same  errors  and  drops  to  the  same  old  level. 
Woman  is  nature's  best  product  yet  she  is  marred 
and  rendered  sterile  by  a  male-made  frost.  The 
chill  will  be  removed,  not  by  a  new  heredity  but  by 
new  estimates  of  woman's  worth. 


20 
John  and  Hattie 

My  old  friends,  John  and  Hattie,  have  as 
smooth  an  exterior  as  anyone  could  ask.  All  that 
heredity  and  good  fortune  can  offer  is  theirs. 
Yet  the  current  that  sweeps  them  on  is  relent- 
less in  its  action.  John  is  a  farmer.  For  a  mile 
his  acres  face  the  road.  On  them  are  the  best 
stock  of  the  region.  Not  a  weed  is  to  be  seen ;  his 
roadside  is  a  lawn.  The  corn  rows  are  straight; 
the  grass  grows  with  a  luxuriance  which  befits 
the  richness  of  the  soil.  People  come  for  miles  to 
see  the  farm,  the  stock  and  the  man. 

John  is  also  a  "good  provider."  Everything 
about  the  house  is  well  arranged.  The  cistern  is 
always  in  repair,  the  wood  chopped  fine  and  the 
cellar  filled  with  all  the  farm  affords.  Every 
known  labor-saving  device  is  in  the  kitchen.  The 
ponies  are  at  the  door  if  Hattie  or  the  children 
want  to  ride. 

Such  is  John  at  home  and  on  the  farm.  Steady, 
honest,  plodding;  with  a  love  and  care  which  is 
seldom  excelled.  But  while  progressive  and  kindly 
here,  he  is  a  standpatter  of  the  most  rigid  sort. 
He  sits  in  the  same  pew  his  father  did,  hears  the 


372  MUD  HOLLOW 

same  sermons,  sings  tne  same  psalms ;  all  with  tlie 
same  relish  his  father  had.  "What  was  good 
enough  for  him  is  good  enough  for  me,"  is  his 
fond  saying.  At  election  he  always  votes  the  same 
Republican  ticket  his  father  did,  proudly  placing 
his  straight  ballot  without  looking  at  it. 

There  never  was  a  change  in  the  town  he  did 
not  oppose,  even  to  the  buying  of  a  new  bell  for 
the  schoolhouse.  All  the  adjectives  his  father  used 
about  ' '  Copperheads ' '  and  his  grandfather  about 
atheists  he  uses  about  Socialists  and  labor  agi- 
tators. He  has  no  use  for  wagging  tongues  nor 
for  sidewalk  orators.  He  earns  his  living,  pays 
his  debts;  so  should  other  people.  Yet  he  cares 
generously  for  the  poor  and  shows  his  patriotism 
freely  on  the  Fourth.  His  great  joy  is  to  lead 
processions  and  to  help  the  children  have  a  good 
time  at  school  and  church  picnics.  Anything  that 
makes  noise  gives  him  pleasure  and  his  liberality 
in  furnishing  explosives  renders  him  a  favorite. 
At  Thanksgiving  and  Christmas  the  poor  get  tur- 
keys ;  his  own  table  to  which  his  friends  are  invited 
looks  like  the  feasts  we  read  of  in  ye  olden  times. 
He  stands  at  his  door  like  a  Middle  Age  esquire  as 
his  friends  depart,  and  takes  their  encomia  of 
farm,  family  and  self  with  a  keen  enjoyment  which 
reveals  the  placid  contentment  reigning  in  his  soul. 

This  he  saw  and  felt  but  he  never  saw  the  tired 
look  as  Hattie  dropped  into  a  chair,  shrouding 
her  face  with  her  hand.  His  mother  had  enjoyed 
these  family  festivals  and  accepted  the  well-earned 
praise  for  her  cooking  with  all  the  pleasure  John 
had.  Why  should  not  Hattie?  He  never  even 
dreamed  it  was  not  so.  Biblical  praises  were  the 
noblest  a  woman  could  receive.  ''Hattie,  the  very 
best  of  women,  deserves  all  this  praise  and  enjoys 
the  honors  it  brings."  So  thought  John,  or  at  least 
would  have  thought  if  he  had  thought  at  all.  Any 
other  outcome  was  unthinkable. 


JOHN  AND  HATTIE  373 

What  pleasures  has  Hattie  outside  the  home? 
None ;  John  never  goes  anywhere  except  to  church 
or  to  a  local  celebration.  His  only  joy  other  than 
running  the  farm  is  to  line  up  the  children  at  a 
picnic  or  on  the  Fourth.  Yes,  he  has  one  more 
pleasure ;  he  likes  to  figure.  He  must  plan  every- 
thing he  does.  Every  detail  is  attended  and  these 
must  be  rigidly  executed.  Though  not  a  hundred 
miles  from  "the  city,"  Hattie  has  been  there  but 
three  times.  John  must  figure  a  week  before  they 
start,  and  then  every  street  corner  is  crossed 
exactly  on  time.  He  is  all  mechanism;  no  spirit. 
Who  could  call  a  trip  with  him  a  joy?  When  they 
came  to  Philadelphia  I  tried  to  get  him  to  let 
Hattie  see  the  ocean.  No,  sir !  that  was  not  on  his 
calendar.  Sea  or  no  sea,  his  plan  must  be  fol- 
low^ed.  The  only  deviation  I  succeeded  in  creating 
was  a  visit  to  Fairmount  Park,  but  this  was  only 
after  an  hour's  wasted  time  in  figuring  at  time 
tables  to  find  if  it  would  fit  into  that  wonderful 
plan  he  had  spent  weeks  devising.  Who  can  blame 
a  quiet  sigh  even  if  the  man  is  the  best  "provider" 
the  world  has  seen?  Ancestral  virtues  have  their 
place,  but  a  little  leaven  is  needed  to  make  them 
livable. 

Hattie  never  complained.  She  did  her  duty  just 
as  her  forbears  did.  Her  cooking,  her  children 
exceeded  rather  than  fell  short  of  ancestral  stan- 
dards. Yet  it  w^as  duty,  all  duty,  never  love.  Hat- 
tie had  a  list  of  ' '  things  to  be  thankful  for, ' '  and 
in  this  she  put  John  and  all  her  belongings  except 
her  children.  It  w^as  a  long  list,  those  arduous 
duties  w^hich  family  tradition  had  imposed;  but 
she  did  them  all  without  murmur.  Yet  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  wanted  something  else.  What 
it  was  I  doubt  if  she  knew.  If  she  had  been  free 
to  seek  it,  she  would  have  failed  as  other  women 
fail.  Yet  the  wish  was  there  and  that  look,  the 
joy  from  what  otherwise  would  have  been  a  de- 


374  MUD  HOLLOW 

light.  Were  you  not  sympathetic  you  would  not 
have  noticed  the  gleam  in  her  eye  as  she  thought 
of  a  world  that  was  not  all  duty. 

Do  not  misunderstand.  Hattie  was  discontent- 
ed and  yet  she  was  w^omanly  enough  to  be  pleased 
with  her  position.  Who  could  be  John's  wife  and 
not  get  joy  from  the  openly  expressed  admiration 
of  all  she  did  and  had?  Other  women  scrimped 
and  toiled  and  received  hard  looks  if  not  condem- 
nation as  their  pay.  John  never  did  thus.  Sitting 
in  his  armed  chair  in  the  bank,  he  extolled  Hattie 
by  the  hour.  Her  slightest  wish  he  gratified.  He 
never  chided  her  about  extravagance  nor  made 
her  account  for  money  received.  John  was  above 
this.  He  carried  a  roll  of  bank  bills  in  one  pocket 
and  a  quart  of  change  in  the  other.  A  handful 
always  came  out  at  her  bidding.  When  she  bought, 
he  threw  a  roll  of  bills  on  the  counter.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  bit  of  ostentation  about  this,  but  John 
should  be  given  his  due.  He  was  a  bountiful  pro- 
vider and  he  did  it  gracefully.  Yet  she  never  took 
a  bill  that  her  hand  did  not  tremble.  It  was  slight 
but  always  there.  She  wanted  her  own  money,  a 
budget  such  as  John  kept  of  his  income  and  out- 
go ;  she  felt  that  it  was  his  money  after  all,  a  gift, 
not  a  recompense  for  service.  She  received  it  not 
because  she  had  done  more  or  less  but  because  she 
was  John's  wife.  Hence  the  hesitation,  the  tremor. 
I  have  tried  a  dozen  times  to  argue  her  out  of 
this;  as  many  times  I  convinced  her  thoroughly. 
''I  know  it,  I  ought  to  be  thankful,"  she  would 
say,  yet  the  next  time  the  tremor  was  there  just 
the  same. 

When  I  looked  more  closely  I  saw  the  many 
ways  in  which  her  position  was  irksome.  The 
weight  of  duty  and  the  tyranny  of  submission 
were  always  present  in  all  she  did.  She  smiled 
and  did  her  duty  nobly.  The  pressure  of  a  thou- 
sand ancestors  "bore  her  along,  but  duty  gave  no 


JOHN  AND  HATTIE  375 

satisfaction.  When  the  ancestral  current  ceased 
to  flow  she  sank  into  her  chair  and  sighed.  John 
was  his  ancestors,  plus ;  he  overdid  what  they  had 
done;  and  enjoyed  it.  She  was  her  forbears, — 
minus.  She  had  not  broken  with  their  deeds  but 
their  pleasures  were  not  hers. 

When  she  held  her  first-born  she  kissed  her  and 
said,  '*It  won't  be  so  with  her."  Alas,  the  hope 
is  never  realized.  A  thousand-thousand  mothers 
have  kissed  their  babes  and  made  the  same  re- 
solve, but  the  hard  grind  of  destiny  sweeps  the 
girl  into  the  same  slavery  to  which  the  mother 
succumbed.  There  is  but  one  current,  in  which  a 
woman  must  move  or  perish ! 

Grace  is  now  a  woman.  What  can  Hattie  do  to 
break  her  chains'/  Nothing.  Joe  wants  her  and 
Joe  is  the  best  young  farmer  in  the  town.  John 
smiles  every  time  he  goes  by  Joe 's  place  and  John 
is  the  judge.  But  if  she  marries  Joe,  she  marries 
the  same  chains  her  mother  wore.  Of  goods  there 
will  be  a  plenty,  but  of  sympathy  and  co-operation 
none.  She  will  go  to  the  same  church,  have  the 
same  family  feasts ;  in  turn  she  will  kiss  her  babe 
and  resolve  it  won't  happen  again — ^without  being 
in  the  least  able  to  alter  the  iron  regime  that 
cramps  her  soul.  George  wants  her  also.  He  is  the 
pride  of  the  town,  a  college  graduate,  an  engineer 
making  three  thousand  at  twenty-five;  he  will 
make  ten  thousand  at  thirty,  and  be  on  the  road 
to  a  million  at  forty.  But  Grace  at  forty  will  be 
wabbly,  fat,  diseased  and  openly  discontented. 
Her  summer  house,  automobiles  and  theatre  par- 
ties will  be  a  bore.  No,  drop  the  curtain — that  is 
not  the  way  out. 

Her  one  other  choice  is  to  go  to  college.  Her 
father  says  all  the  children  may  have  a  farm,  or 
an  education.  What  will  the  education  bring 
Grace?  Some  dull  literature,  a  smattering  of  his- 
tory and  a  cornucopia  of  useless  things  having  no 


376  MUD  HOLLOW 

relation  to  her  life,  her  needs  and  her  yearning. 
Then  what?  Nothing  but  being  a  snarling  Social- 
ist or  an  insipid  old  maid.  Worse  and  worse. 
Better  marry  Joe  and  repeat  her  mother's  deeds, 
sit  in  the  same  pew,  in  turn  kiss  her  first-born, 
expressing  anew  the  eternal  hope  of  mothers  that 
tomorrow's  sun  will  turn  the  rusty  locks  the  ages 
have  never  unbolted. 

Such  is  home  life,  not  so  different  after  all  from 
what  my  story  describes.  Paul  and  John  are  the 
products  of  the  same  grind.  Paul  is  ahead  because 
he  sees  the  wrong  of  the  male  view,  something  that 
no  force  could  make  John  comprehend.  The  world 
fits  him  because  he  fits  his  world.  AVhy  change 
what  is  already  perfect?  The  Professor  is  beyond 
both  but  still  without  the  slightest  inkling  of  what 
the  real  trouble  is.  His  women  are  as  fast  to  the 
ivall  as  John's  are  in  the  kitchen.  He  needs  a 
weak  woman  to  fill  out  his  picture ;  John  needs  a 
tame  one. 

Nor  is  the  situation  better  if  we  face  the  man 
of  the  street  or  even  the  college  lad  on  whose 
shoulders  progress  rests.  Many  years  as  an  in- 
structor have  taught  me  that  boys  are  better  than 
they  were  both  in  enthusiasm  and  thought.  But 
their  idealization  of  theirbrides  is  as  crude  as  their 
forefathers'.  Protectors  and  providers.  Ah,  yes, 
but  not  co-operators.  They  think  of  buying  sillc 
and  candy,  not  of  united  effort.  While  this  con- 
tinues their  wives  may  smile,  but  their  hands  will 
tremble  when  they  take  the  bills. 

The  women  described  are  as  typical  as  the 
men.  Mrs.  Brown  everyone  admires.  Mor- 
ality extols  the  woman  who  bears  discipline 
and  misfortune  with  her  grace.  Hattie  has  the 
discipline  without  the  misfortune.  Yet  no  one 
doubts  that  she  would  meet  misfortune  heroically 
were  she  called  upon  to  face  it.  The  machinery 
would  work  just  as  effectively  if  the  grind  began. 


NEXT  STEP  IN  EVOLUTION         377 

To  them  all  praise  and  honor.  They  deserve  more 
than  they  get. 

But  Ruth,  poor  thing,  has  neither  discipline, 
sacrifice  nor  tradition  to  mold  her  into  shape. 
To  her  comes  all  the  condemnation  which  follows 
age-long  adhesion  to  the  iron  law  of  subjection. 
But  is  she  different  from  the  others  1  Would  she 
fly  from  duty  or  face  it  if  the  ordeal  came?  Do 
men  make  women,  or  nature?  ''Woman  is  hered- 
ity, ' '  the  Professor  says.  ' '  Nature 's  best  product. 
Let  the  girl  grow,  fill  her  life  with  joy.  Then 
when  motherhood  comes  she  is  ready  for  her 
task."  All  the  mother-instincts  which  have 
lain  dormant  in  youth  quickly  assert  their  suprem- 
acy. She  does  what  millions  of  mothers  have 
done  and  she  does  it  rightly.  Why  teach  water 
to  run  down-hill  or  smoke  to  climb?  'Tis  their 
nature  so  to  do. 

Girls  become  women,  not  by  training,  discipline 
and  sacrifice,  but  by  God-given  impulses  which 
men  may  harm  but  never  help. 


21 

The  Next  Step  in  Evolution 

This  book  has  been  read  by  literary  friends  and 
rejected  by  publishers.  It  is  therefore  possible  to 
foresee  what  critics  Avill  say  and  on  what  they  will 
base  their  condemnation.  I  cannot  change  this 
judgment,  nor  do  I  wish  to.  The  end  of  the  literary 
expert  is  so  different  from  mine  that  common 
grounds  are  hard  to  find.  This  is  not  a  new  posi- 
tion. "Wlien  my  book  of  hymns  appeared  a  literary 
friend  said  there  were  only  six  kinds  of  poetry. 
These  he  enumerated  on  his  fingers,  exactly  as  he 
had  learned  them  from  his  college  professor.    My 


378  MUD   HOLLOW 

hymns  came  under  none  of  these  heads :  therefore 
they  were  not  poetry. 

When  I  presented  my  story  I  found  there  was 
only  one  kind  of  novel.  The  learned  professors 
throw  out  all  but  this  brand.  The  cause  is  that 
novel  writing,  not  yet  a  hundred  years  old,  has 
been  brought  to  its  present  perfection  bj^  a  single 
group  of  English  writers.  With  stray  volumes 
which  do  not  fit  this  mold  the  professors  make 
sad  havoc.  It  is  easy  to  arrange  the  hundred  and 
thirty-nine  accepted  volumes  on  a  single  plan  and 
to  glory  in  the  scientific  achievement.  But  poetry 
is  the  product  of  thousands  of  years.  It  has  had 
too  many  forms  to  be  boxed  in  so  simple  a  manner 
as  the  novel.  Six  therefore  is  the  smallest  group- 
ing that  a  professor  can  make  plausible.  If  a 
writer's  motive  and  form  do  not  fit  this  classifi- 
cation, out  he  goes  to  the  unliterary  darkness. 

It  is  useless  to  argue  a  point  of  this  kind  either 
about  hymns  or  stories.  It  may  however  be  pos- 
sible to  show  that  the  exposition  of  any  writer 
depends  on  the  end  he  has  in  view  and  the  medium 
through  which  he  moves.  Every  change  either  in 
his  end  or  in  his  tool  forces  him  to  attack  preju- 
dice in  some  new  way.  Every  victory  of  thought 
has  two  stages:  a  clearing  of  the  logical  ground 
on  which  opinion  rests,  and  the  removal  of  obses- 
sions by  which  the  truth  is  prevented  from  becom- 
ing mass  opinion.  Arguments  always  appeal  to 
minorities,  which  fact  of  itself  creates  majority 
suspicion  if  not  disdain.  A  scientist  must  there- 
fore stop  with  an  incomplete  victory  or  resort  to 
some  literary  form  of  attack.  No  matter  how 
much  a  novice  he  must  try  his  hand  and  abide  by 
the  results.  Some  years  ago  I  offered  hymns  to 
the  managers  of  a  local  political  campaign.  ''No," 
they  replied,  "we  don't  want  hymns:  we  want 
arguments.'^     They  had  them  galore,  and  went 


NEXT  STEP  IN  EVOLUTION         379 

down  by  a  ninety  thousand  majority.  Emotion 
wins  when  mass  opinion  decides. 

Of  the  forms  of  emotional  appeal  the  more 
easily  handled  are  song,  fiction  and  history. 
When  a  writer  makes  his  choice  he  has  j)i"oblems 
of  technique  to  face  which  he  can  overcome  only 
by  trials — crude  trials,  yet  effective  if  he  persist. 
Aside  from  this  he  is  not  bound.  He  need  not 
alter  his  ends  nor  deny  he  has  them.  Disguised  or 
conscious,  every  one  has  ends ;  of  them  he  should 
be  proud. 

A  part  of  the  trouble  lies  in  use  of  the  word 
''novel"  to  cover  the  ground  of  all  character 
studies.  It  thus  becomes  assumed  that  a  writer 
must  devise  a  plot  that,  hiding  his  climax,  enables 
him  to  spring  a  surprise  on  his  readers !  But  true 
character  studies  do  not  permit  of  these  sur- 
prises. The  interest  must  therefore  lie  in  the 
normal  unfolding  of  character  and  not  in  its  too 
brief  manifestations.  Development  has  no  final- 
ity. It  does  not  stop  at  marriage  or  divorce. 
There  is  no  social  station  the  reaching  of  which 
is  success,  nor  any  harm  from  which  the  loser 
cannot  escape.  Character  is  merely  a  moving 
equilibrium  never  wholly  seen  in  any  situation, 
time  or  angle.  It  is  this  fact  which  forces  char- 
acter studies  to  take  the  form  of  a  story  in  which 
time,  action  and  situation  blend.  In  technical 
terms  these  changes  are  called  digressions,  of 
which  an  author  can  take  advantage  as  often  as 
plot  demands.  No  character  study  is  complete 
without  shifts  of  interest.  Otherw^ise  the  view"  of 
the  subject  would  be  too  narrow  to  be  effective. 
A  short  story  throwing  the  emphasis  on  surprise 
cannot  give  the  digressions  which  make  char- 
acter studies  valuable.  English  novels  make  their 
shifts  by  description  of  scenery  or  of  locality. 
Neither  of  these  are  available  in  America  because 
of  the  meagreness  of  details  in  both  these  respects. 


380  MUD  HOLLOW 

A  Western  sunset  or  a  description  of  a  cow  barn 
would  not  go  far.  My  two  parts  are  a  device  to 
overcome  this  deficiency.  To  weave  my  first  part 
into  the  second,  as  digressions,  would  demand  not 
the  traditional  three  volumes,  but  ten.  If  the 
reader  cannot  of  himself  blend  the  two  parts,  the 
American  novel  will  have  to  wait  for  some  new 
venture. 

Without  this,  however,  the  defect  in  transplant- 
ing the  English  novel  into  American  can  be  shown 
by  taking  as  an  example  its  latest  exponent.  Mr. 
Hardy  uses  conventional  tools  and  gives  English 
scenery  the  customary  emphasis.  It  is  but  a 
slight  exaggeration  of  his  method  to  picture  the 
cow  in  the  milking  scene  as  looking  at  Tess's  hair 
and  then  at  the  setting  sun,  to  determine  by  their 
harmony  or  discord  whether  to  kick  the  pail  or 
to  give  her  milk.  The  fact  is  that  both  Tess  and 
the  cow  are  Asiatic  animals  whose  emotions  are 
determined  by  scenes  thousands  of  miles  from 
England.  Tame  cows  and  tame  Tesses  are  Eng- 
lish in  their  repressions  but  not  in  their  instinc- 
tive reactions.  It  is  this  fact  which  makes  the 
final  scene  of  the  book  so  English — and  so  false. 
Only  slaves  bow  their  faces  to  earth  to  indicate 
their  acceptance  of  moral  retribution  as  imposed 
by  fat  English  judges.  We  are  also  led  to  infer 
that  if  the  architecture  of  the  jail  had  harmonized 
more  completely  with  the  scene,  the  emotions  of 
the  beholders  would  have  gone  out  in  some  other 
form.  Such  reactions  may  be  truly  English  but 
are  hardly  universal.  A  Western  farmer  gets  up 
on  an  October  morning  not  to  see  the  rising  sun 
but  to  feed  the  hogs.  His  emotions  respond  to 
the  state  of  the  market,  not  to  the  brilliancy  of 
sky  effects.  A  story  must  be  made  to  move,  not 
in  accord  with  tradition,  but  with  impulses  im- 
planted long  before  Europe  was  heard  of.  The 
immigrant  brings  Asia,  not  Europe,  with  him.    He 


NEXT  STEP  IN  EVOLUTION         381 

is  disloyal  to  Europe  and  hence  instinctively  op- 
poses everything  English.  The  English  are  slaves 
to  law.  The  American  is  equally  a  law-breaker. 
A  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  are  our  demand,  a 
dream  which  beats  the  charm  of  English  fellow- 
ship. 

These  statements  are  negative,  showing  merely 
where  the  break  with  English  tradition  occurs. 
Tragedy  and  retribution  are  equally  amiss.  They 
inculcate  morality  but  do  not  promote  evolution. 
The  new  plot  must  show  an  evolutionary  shift 
without  a  predication  of  its  moral  worth.  It  is  a 
movement  from  here  to  there.  Something  that 
converts  the  is  into  the  is  not.  It  is  easy  to 
compare  what  is  today  with  what  a  writer  hopes 
will  be  three  thousand  years  hence.  Of  such  pic- 
tures literature  has  an  abundance.  They  reveal 
an  acute  imagination — ^but  to  show  where  the  next 
movement  in  evolution  will  take  place  and  where 
it  will  land  the  participants  is  a  scientific  problem 
demanding  both  a  knowledge  of  the  present  and 
of  evolution.  A  plot  of  this  kind  must  give  an  ac- 
curate description  of  the  class  on  which  evolution 
is  to  work  and  of  the  means  by  which  the  altera- 
tion is  effected. 

Mud  Holloiu  is  the  base  on  which  the  nation 
rests.  It  is  the  normal  in  the  sense  that  it  has 
the  soil  and  mechanisms  on  which  prosperity  de- 
pends, without  the  impressment  of  a  foreign  cul- 
ture which  would  thwart  local  tendencies.  Nor- 
malcy may  be  defined  as  prosperity  without  cul- 
ture. Money  to  do  with  and  not  knowing  what 
to  do. 

Mud  Hollow  is  not  Gopher  Prairie.  Its  inhabi- 
tants do  not  drag  out  their  lives  nor  suffer  de- 
privation for  the  benefit  of  absentee  capitalists. 
The  elevators  and  the  railroads  may  take  more 
than  their  just  share  but  Mud  Hollow  is  not  con- 
scious of  exploitation.    All  pay  their  debts,  have 


382  MUD  HOLLOW 

money  in  pocket;  ride  to  church  and  market  in 
their  Sunday  clothes.  Not  everybody  lives  in  Mud 
Hollow  nor  are  all  its  inhabitants  well  off,  but  the 
class  is  large  enough  to  control  public  opinion 
and  thus  make  the  stone  on  which  evolution  rests. 
Progress  demands  surplus  as  well  as  discontent; 
new  wants  to  battle  with  old  restraints ;  a  shift  in 
emotion  in  addition  to  changes  in  corn  plows  and 
harvesters. 

Bowman  is  Mud  Hollow  strained  and  concen- 
trated— a  group  of  farmhouses  without  farms. 
To  it  families  go  to  see  their  sons  turned  into 
Congressmen,  doctors,  preacher;s  aiid  school  super- 
intendents. The  interests  and  talk  are  of  the  farm 
except  as  interspersed  with  tales  of  the  Civil  "War. 
More  than  half  of  the  residents  are  old  soldiers 
to  whom  the  War  made  the  only  break  in  life.  Even 
the  professors  were  but  a  single  generation  from 
the  farm  where  they  felt  more  at  home  than  in 
Athens.  Every  woman  is  a  housewife,  bakes  her 
own  bread  and  is  proud  of  her  kitchen.  Boys  do 
not  return  to  the  farm,  but  girls  are  expected  to 
tread  the  path  of  their  mothers.  They  might 
''fool  away  a  couple  of  years  at  books,"  but  in 
the  end  they  are  to  marry  some  budding  Congress- 
man, bake  potatoes  as  did  mother,  and  rear 
children.  In  this  Bowman  is  not  different 
from  towns  to  which  successful  farmers  retire, 
spending  their  mornings  in  gossip  and  motoring 
out  to  the  farm  after  dinner.  Every  village  has 
rows  of  such  farmless  houses  where  leisure  and 
content  dwell,  unconscious  of  world  problems  or 
of  world  misery.  All  this  looks  simple  and  in  a 
measure  satisfactory,  but  does  not  seem  to  afford 
a  good  basis  of  a  plot;  nor  would  it,  if  the  boys 
and  girls  reared  in  these  protected  homes  were 
as  stubbornly  material  as  their  parents. 

But  surplus  does  not  crave  more  surplus:  it 
turns  itself  into  adventure.    It  makes  breaks,  up- 


NEXT  STEP  IN  EVOLUTION         383 

sets  tradition,  and  creates  variation.  This  is  the 
process  to  watch  and  the  source  from  which  new 
plots  arise.  It  is  emotion,  not  situation,  that 
alters. 

Asiatic  heredity,  European  tradition,  American 
situation.  That  is  America  today.  Three  antag- 
onistic forces  play  on  every  one.  America  feeds ; 
Europe  restrains;  Asia  fumes  at  both  food  and 
restraint.  If  Asia  wins  we  shall  have  evolution; 
how  it  is  to  win  is  the  only  plot  worth  unravelling. 
To  dump  Europe,  its  traditions,  culture  and  mor- 
als, seems  to  be  the  only  thought  movement  cap- 
able of  lifting  Mud  Hollow  above  itself.  The 
break  and  its  consequences  can  be  foreseen  even 
if  it  does  not  bring  mankind  into  a  storm-free 
Utopia.  One  step  at  a  time.  That  is  all  evolution 
is,  and  does.  Nature  has  surmounted  worse  evils 
than  those  we  face.  She  has  put  America  in  Mud 
Hollow.    She  must  find  a  way  out. 

In  a  description  of  what  is  to  happen  a  writer 
has  but  two  choices.  He  must  describe  the  next 
transformation — how  we  are  to  get  from  where 
we  are  to  some  other  stable  point,  or  he  may  strive 
to  picture  what  the  final  evolution  of  the  race  will 
resemble.  To  tell  what  the  world  will  be  like  three 
or  ten  thousand  years  hence,  giving  free  scope  to 
the  imagination,  is  satisfying  in  the  sense  that 
what  we  wish  can  be  readily  described.  Such 
pictures  are  merely  the  perfecting  of  what  we 
have.  Evolution  is  not  a  dream,  but  a  series  of 
transformations  shifting  from  one  base  to  an- 
other. 

Each  new  civilization  is  such  a  shift.  Each 
master  mind  is  he  who  points  the  way  from  one 
base  to  another.  The  real  makers  of  evolution 
are  not  the  dreamers — but  those  who  create  a  new 
order  to  replace  the  chaos  into  which  their  fellows 
have  fallen.  The  growth  of  new  physical  traits, 
the  pressure  of  invention  and  the  fruit  of  adven- 


384  MUD  HOLLOW 

ture  make  old  institutions  untenable.  Their  re- 
placement makes  a  step  in  evolution.  Such 
steps  are  associated  with  Moses,  Luther,  Crom- 
well, Bismarck.  Each  leads  his  comrades  through 
a  wilderness,  into  a  land  of  promise.  These  men 
make  history.  They  can  be  praised  for  what  they 
did  and  blamed  for  what  they  did  not.  However 
we  judge  their  mistakes  and  failures,  they  each 
helped  to  establish  a  new  order  which,  moving 
mankind  upward,  established  a  new  equilibrium. 
We  have  broken  with  our  past  and  pushed  on  into 
a  depression  out  of  wdiich  there  is  no  beaten  path. 
To  find  an  exit  is  evolution's  next  great  task. 
People  and  situations  have  importance  only  as 
measuring  change  and  pointing  this  new  equi- 
librium. We  are  in  a  period  of  progress.  Our 
children  will  live  longer  and  have  better  times 
even  if  they  scoft'  our  dearest  traditions.  When 
the  clouds  break  we  shall  be  in  a  new  Paradise 
but  not  in  Eden.  Many,  many  Paradises  must  be 
sought  and  gained  before  Eden  re-opens  her  gates. 


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